


Trials of the Maker

by stealyourshiny



Series: Tests of the Maker [2]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst and Humor, BAMF Anders, Depression, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Letters to the Maker, M/M, Non Consensual, Post-Dragon Age II, Rape/Non-con References, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-13
Updated: 2011-10-08
Packaged: 2017-10-23 17:21:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 29,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/252857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stealyourshiny/pseuds/stealyourshiny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kinkmeme Prompt: Fenris is captured by Templars who are interested in his lyrium markings. Either because of lyrium addiction, or Fenris is too close to being a mage for comfort, or out of an interest to make Templar lyrium warriors. Anders rescues him. This idea was inspired by a scene in "Tests of the Maker" where Templars pulled Fenris over b/c of his markings, so if that A!Anon wanted to used this prompt for a sequel, that would be awesome.</p><p>Story 2 in the Tests of the Maker Series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel in response to the DA2 Kink Meme. There may be spoilers for DA2, Legacy, and DA:Awakenings. Warnings for slight non-con.

“So why are you still here, then?”

It was Sigrun. Fenris sighed and stopped so her shorter legs could catch up, crossing his arms while he waited. He had taken to going out with the patrols, mainly for something to do. It was a little boring since there weren’t many darkspawn above-ground these days. There were sometimes bandits, but that was about it. As long as the mages stayed inside the Keep, the patrols were rarely eventful.

“I mean, you’ve been here for, what, three months now? You’re not a Warden so why are you sticking around? I mean, I realise we’re all amazing people - well, except Oghren, he just smells.”

Fenris pinched the bridge of his nose, waiting for her to stop talking for a moment.

“I have little else to do, and I promised Anders I wouldn’t leave him here alone,” he replied.

“I heard they finally found someone who can break the enchantment on his collar. The Commander told me before she and Alistair left that he’d be at the Keep soon, maybe even today,” Sigrun said thoughtfully, tapping her fingers against her chin. “I wonder what they’re doing anyway. She wouldn’t even tell us where they were going.” Sigrun seemed a little annoyed by that but shrugged. “Hey, where are the others?” She peered at the road ahead, frowning.

Fenris turned to look as well, squinting a little in the midday sun. He could see again, but it had become clear after a few weeks that he was a more than a little nearsighted now. Fenris rubbed his eyes and frowned. “I don’t know, they were just ahead of me a moment ago... They cannot have gotten far,” Fenris replied, and started walking again. The two walked further, and slowed down as they came to a section of the path that had heavier foliage.

“I don’t like this,” Sigrun said, her voice hushed. She drew her daggers slowly, the sound of the metal sliding out of the sheath suddenly very loud. Fenris put a hand to his sword, not quite ready to draw it out yet, but definitely preparing. He slowly took a few steps forward, bent over a little as he listened for any hint of sound outside of Sigrun’s movements.

It came from the right. Fenris didn’t even have time to fully draw his sword before he was knocked to the ground by a large, solid body. He rolled with the hit, coming up to his knees a few feet away with a growl. Fenris pulled at his sword as the person in front of him came toward him with their shield again. It was halfway out of the scabbard when he was hit from behind, knocking him onto his stomach. He rolled to the side again, grunting as he hit another set of feet.

How many of them _were_ there?

“Get her! No, over there, she’s there!”

Fenris could hear the sounds of more battle somewhere ahead, and growled again. His legs swept around, knocking the person next to him off of his feet. Fenris pounced then, pinning the man down, his lyrium markings flaring brightly as his hand went through the man’s chest.

At that moment, it seemed that every person in the attacking party swung around, and they all honed in on the elf, now ignoring the bleeding dwarf. The last thing Fenris remembered was a flash of bright light, multiple sets of hands grabbing him, and then the smell of rotting deep mushrooms.

 _Dear Maker,_

 _What have I gotten into now...._


	2. Part One

“Maker’s breath, that feels wonderful.” Anders rubbed his neck where the collar had been chaffing for over three months. The dwarf in front of him put the collar into a bag on his hip and shrugged.

“Glad to be of service,” he replied.

“You have no idea....” Anders’ fingers itched. He looked around the Hall for something, anything - and focused on Nathaniel, who was talking with someone on the other side of the room.

The familiar surge of the Fade rang in his ears as he concentrated on the scout’s back. A moment later, Nathaniel was hopping around and shouting obscenities, trying to put out the small fire that had started on his shirt sleeve. Anders grinned and stretched his arms. He felt _whole_ again. Complete.

“ANDERS!”

He gave Nathaniel his best ‘innocent’ look. “What?”

“Don’t you ‘what’ me, you just set fire to my shirt!”

“It wasn’t me! Velanna’s right there, it was probably her!”

“Do not pin your childish behaviour on me, human,” Velanna replied coldly. Anders opened his mouth to retort, but the doors to the Hall swung open and someone was calling for a healer. Instincts taking over, Anders ran to the soldier at the door.

“I’m a healer, what’s wrong?”

“Outside, it’s Warden Sigrun, she’s badly injured ser, come with me,” the guard said, pulling Anders out the door. Nathaniel and Velanna followed close behind, down the stairs and into the courtyard. He knelt next to her, his fingers already flying over the catches in her armour, removing it to find the wounds.

“Get me some water and bandages,” Anders said, barking orders at another guard who was standing over the dwarf. He took stock of the dwarf’s form, and pushed her gently. “Stay still Sigrun, you’ll be fine and you can tell us what happened in a moment, you need to relax right now though.” The comforting warmth of healing magic began to spread through his limbs then, directing itself to the multiple wounds the dwarf had, focusing mainly on the large gash in her side. When it closed, he could hear her breathing even, and the gurgling sound begin to disappear.

The guard returned with water, which he handed to Anders, who tilted it into Sigrun’s mouth gently. She coughed a little, and he waited, then gave her more water. When she could swallow without coughing he handed the water back and gently picked her up.

“She’s lost a lot of blood, but her wounds weren’t serious. She’ll need rest,” he told them, and carried her past an astonished Nathaniel and Velanna. Anders brought her into the Hall, ignoring all the strange looks he was getting, and carried her through and down the halls to the small infirmary where Gairyth was still settled. The young man jumped out of the chair he was sitting in when Anders came in, but the older mage brushed him away. “She’s fine, she just needs a bed.” Anders settled Sigrun into one of the empty cots and checked her over again to make sure he didn’t miss anything else.

“A-Anders,” she said, tugging on his arm weakly. “They...”

“Relax, Sigrun, you’re okay now. Just get some sleep and you’ll feel better in by morning, okay? Is there anywhere else that hurts? Did I miss anything?” Behind him, Anders heard the infirmary door open again, and a moment later Nathaniel was next to him, pushing him a little out of the way.

“Sigrun, where are the others? Where’s your patrol?” he asked, frowning at her.

“Nathaniel, she needs to rest-”

“Fenris was in her patrol,” Nathaniel said, which made Anders close his mouth. Sigrun was fighting to stay conscious, her body wanting to pull her into a healing sleep to replenish the fluids she’d lost.

“Gone... Templars...” she managed to mumble before unconsciousness finally took her.

“Shit,” Nathaniel growled and stood up. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing a few stray black strands behind his ear.

“ **Which patrol were they on?** ” Nathaniel met his eyes and a look of surprise registered across his face. Anders caught the archer’s arm in a vice-grip that one wouldn’t have thought possible from the mage and pulled him to the door. “ **Which patrol route, Nathaniel?** ”

“Justice?”

“ **The templars must be dealt with. They must be brought to justice.** ” Anders opened the door and escorted Nathaniel through it. He wasn’t being particularly gentle and Nathaniel winced a little as he was pulled to the map of the arling that was hanging in the Hall. He let go of the archer then, looking at the map expectantly. Nathaniel rubbed his arm and stared at Anders for a moment, seeming to take in the strangeness of Justice being the dominant personality. The strange cracks all over his body, even showing through his clothing, the bright blue glow in his eyes, and the odd echo to his voice.

“Are you... I mean, you are well?” Nathaniel asked, frowning a little. Anders made a dismissive gesture and looked impatiently at the map again. The templars would not get away with this injustice.

“ **We are well. We have done much for the cause of justice. Which patrol route?** ”

Nathaniel looked the map over, trying to remember what route Sigrun had mentioned they were taking that morning before pointing to the north road. “They were doing the wooded area around the farms. Sigrun, Jack, Martin, and Fenris,” Nathaniel told him, and trailed his finger over the exact route. “They get bandits there, and sometimes darkspawn.”

“What’s going on?” They turned and saw Velanna staring at them. Her eyes widened slightly as she took in the sight of Anders. “How is Sigrun?”

“She’ll be okay, Anders healed her. She said something about Templars though. I think they ambushed the patrol,” Nathaniel said.

“Why would they do that?” Velanna raised her eyebrows curiously.

“This has to have been revenge. I wouldn’t have thought the templars stupid enough to do this. They already openly attacked and killed Wardens in Redcliffe just to get at the mages, they wouldn’t be dumb enough to do this, would they? There wasn’t even a mage in their patrol!” Nathaniel paced a little, not noticing that Anders had already picked up a staff and was walking toward the door with purpose. Anders opened the door and went down the stairs into the courtyard again. He would not allow this to happen. Templars oppressing mages was an injustice, but this was even further. They were harming others now, not just mages. It was not to be tolerated.

They would be punished.


	3. Part Two

Fenris awoke with a groan. He was a little sore, but it didn’t feel like he was bleeding or anything was broken. His head was pounding and he could still vaguely smell the rotten deep mushrooms in his nostrils. The elf pulled himself to his feet and looked around the room. It was small and dark, with only a tiny, barred window on the door. His markings flared in the darkness, giving himself a little more light. There wasn’t much to see, even with light. A blanket in the corner and a bucket. Fenris made a disgusted sound and focused on the door. The bars were a little high for him to look through, but he listened for a moment. It didn’t sound like anyone was outside, though he did hear coughing coming through a crack in the wall to his left. He concentrated, pressing his hands against the wood, with the intent of walking through it. It was idiotic that anyone would try to keep him locked up.

Except he wasn’t moving. Fenris frowned and pushed harder, grunting and throwing his entire body into it.

He still wasn’t moving.

The elf stopped pushing, it was stupid to waste his energy on something that wasn’t going to work. He would rest a while and then try again, or try the stone instead, though he wasn’t sure what was going on that he couldn’t get through the door.

“Who’s there?”

Fenris started and looked around again. He moved toward the crack in the wall and tried to peer through, but it wasn’t wide enough.

“Is someone in there?” Fenris finally said, frowning to himself. The dry chuckle he heard in response sounded like an older man.

“I suppose you could call me someone. I believe I still technically live. Who are you, young man, that you have brought the ire of the templars upon you?”

“Templars!?” Fenris took a step back from the crack and looked around again. “Where am I? I was attacked while on patrol near Amaranthine.”

“Amaranthine? My goodness, you are a long way from there now, boy. You are in the dungeons of Kinloch Hold. Were you an apostate?”

“I am not a mage,” Fenris snapped, and began pacing the room.

“Then what have you done to end up here?” The old man sounded surprised.

“I do not know. They attacked the Warden patrol I was with, I don’t even know if the others are alive.” Fenris thought of Sigrun and growled again. The first person to come through that door was going to have a nasty surprise.

“Wardens? Are you a Grey Warden?”

“No.”

“If you are not a mage, and not a Grey Warden, then you are an enigma, lad. Templars do not usually bother with anyone not a mage, though I did hear that they had a run in with the Wardens a few months ago. Something about trying to take some Warden mages into custody...”

“Yes, I was there. They killed a Warden squad in Redcliffe. The Commander did not take kindly to it,” Fenris replied, and kicked the bucket in frustration. The room was tiny, it only took him two strides each way to reach a wall. His markings flared again and he made an attempt at the wall, pushing as hard as he could for a few moments. He growled in annoyance again before putting his back to the wall and sliding down to the floor.

“What is that light? I keep seeing it through the cracks. You shouldn’t use magic in here, you’ll just wear yourself out.”

“I am not a mage,” Fenris repeated, more forcefully that time. He heard his associate moving around on the other side of the wall, coming closer to the crack.

“So you say, but your light. I can feel it over here. It... Do you have lyrium in there?” The elf snorted in dull amusement.

“You have no idea, old man,” he replied and ran a hand through his hair. Fenris frowned and stared at his bare hands. They’d taken his armour. They’d... handled him. He shuddered and silently thanked the Maker that he’d been unconscious for that.

Outside he could now hear the sounds of fully-armoured humans - funny how elves never seemed to be templars - coming down a set of stairs and moving down a hallway toward them. He listened carefully to them. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve. Twelve steps from the stairs to his door. The room darkened for a moment as someone stepped in front of the bars, peering in.

“Oi, you hear that?” someone outside whispered. “The song. It’s bloody loud right here, innit?”

“He’s got to be covered in the stuff,” someone else replied. Fenris let his markings flare out, they were obviously talking about the lyrium, and he didn’t need to give them more reasons to want to skin him. “Oh, it stopped!”

“The glow in the cell has gone out. He did that on the road too didn’t he? When he killed Ser Rory?”

“Yes, I did, and I will do it to you as well the moment you step in here,” Fenris growled at the templars. He smirked with some satisfaction as the sound of the templars tumbling away from the door echoed through the hallway. It was silent for a moment, with only the sound of armour creaking to be heard.

“It’s just an elf,” someone finally mumbled. “Are you afraid of a bloody elf?”

“Are _you_?” another retorted. “I don’t see you opening the door.”

“Well the Commander wants to see him,” the third said.

“Then give me that bottle,” the first retorted. Fenris raised and eyebrow and stood up. He didn’t like the sound of a bottle. It made him think of Isabela and Varric’s poison vials. The window was blocked again by one of the templars, and Fenris squinted, trying to see in the dark what they were doing. By the time he realised, the vial was already falling into the room. The elf lunged forward to catch it, and cursed loudly in Arcanum when his fingers barely brushed the top before it shattered on the stone floor.

The smell of rotting deep mushrooms filled his senses again, a hazy gas billowing from the broken glass across the floor of the tiny cell. Fenris felt the room start to spin a little, and could hear the templars talking outside again. He started to cough, falling to his knees. He could feel the strength sapping out of his limbs, and had one glimpse of dull, fuzzy light from an open doorway before everything went dark again.


	4. Part Three

Anders was sitting on a stump waiting when they finally caught up to him. Justice had taken him as far as he could before the anger started to wane, and Anders could take control again. His feet were killing him after the prolonged fast trot that Justice had kept up. Nathaniel leaned over his horse’s mane and raised his eyebrows at Anders with a smirk.

“What have we here then?” Nathaniel asked, highly amused. Anders made a little curtsy with his coat.

“Hey there sailor, going my way?” he asked, batting his eyelashes at the rogue, who sat back up and made a disgusted sound that made Anders grin. He looked around a moment, and then back up to Nathaniel. “Where’s the other horse?”

“What other horse?” Nathaniel retorted.

“The one you were supposed to bring with you so that I could ride it. Unless of course you like the idea of me behind you. Riding. With my arms around you. Or maybe you prefer in front?” Anders grin broadened a little as Nathaniel spluttered and blushed.

“I didn’t bring another horse because we’re turning around and going back to the Keep. We need supplies, a plan. We don’t even know where exactly they were attacked!” he argued, turning his horse around.

“Don’t be an ass, Nathaniel! We don’t know how much time we’ve already lost. Sigrun could have fallen in and out of consciousness a number of times before she got back to the Keep. The patrol was a three day, deal wasn’t it? They could have been attacked any one of the last two days! Fenris and the others could be dead or in Denerim by now, for all we know!” Anders grabbed Nathaniel’s reins and turned the horse’s head around the other way again. Nathaniel fought it by half-heartedly pulling the reins back again, but he relented.

“Just the two of us?”

“More would be too obvious anyway.”

“But we’re the two most senior Grey Wardens in the castle.”

“What about Oghren and Velanna. Wait. Nevermind,” Anders pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sigrun will wake up after she gets a good long sleep, she’ll know what to do. The rest will be fine. Besides, who better to track them down than you?”

“And what will you be doing then?” Nathaniel asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Blowing them up of course. It’s what I’m good at,” Anders replied with a grin. The rogue sighed and put out his hand. Anders took it and was pulled up behind the dark-haired man. “I always knew you liked to be on bottom.”

“One more dirty joke out of you, mage, and I’ll push you off at the next cliff,” Nathaniel replied over his shoulder. Anders just snickered and wrapped an arm around Nathaniel’s waist so he wouldn’t fall off. The archer urged the horse into a canter, moving down the road as fast as he was comfortable making the animal go with two fully-grown men on its back.

Anders was very ready to get off the horse when they came around the curve a few hours later. Nathaniel pulled the reins, slowing his horse when they saw the mess on the road. There had been some attempt to clear it, but it looked as if it was somewhat half-hearted. Anders slid off the back of the horse and moved forward, checking bodies for any life at all. Nathaniel tied the reins of his horse around a nearby tree and began to take a look at the tracks and scrapes in the dirt, trying to make sense of them.

“Here,” Anders called, gesturing Nathaniel over to something on the side of the road. He picked it up as the rogue came near, revealing a templar chestpiece with blood on the inside, but no damage on the outside. Nathaniel stared at it curiously for a moment then looked at Anders. “Fenris’ magical fisting thing,” the mage said simply, tossing the armour aside again. “So it was definitely here they were attacked. What did you find?”

“Probably ten men in full armour. They were waiting for them. It looks like Jack and Martin were on point and were ambushed first. Dragged into the trees there,” Nathaniel pointed to a spot to their right, “and killed. There’s blood all over the ground there. Probably slit their throats so they couldn’t make any sound. They ambushed Sigrun and Fenris around here.” Nathaniel walked to the center of the road and moved a little further up the bend. He knelt down, looking at the dirt and then walked a few steps off the road, bending over. Anders followed him, frowning.

“What was the point of ambushing a squad of Wardens who were patrolling for bandits? They didn’t have a mage among them. There was no reason...” Nathaniel had found something, a rag, that he picked up and sniffed, making a face and quickly pulling it away.

“Soldier’s Bane.”

“So they weren’t expecting mages? They would have had Magebane if they were planning on capturing mages...” Anders frowned and rubbed his bearded chin thoughtfully. “Soldier’s Bane won’t kill someone, it just saps your energy. I guess in large doses it could knock someone out the way Magebane would. So were they planning on capturing Fenris?”

“How could they have known he would be with this patrol?” Nathaniel frowned. Anders ran a hand through his hair and looked around again.

“Maybe they weren’t planning on taking him?” Anders leaned over and picked up a dagger. One of Sigrun’s. “I knew those tattoos were going to get him in trouble someday.”

“We should go back to the Keep,” Nathaniel said, moving toward the horse. “He’s definitely alive.”

“I’m not going back to the Keep until I have that stupid elf with me,” Anders said, sliding Sigrun’s dagger into his belt. “I won’t leave anyone to the templars. Mage or not.”

“You can’t rescue him by yourself Anders,” Nathaniel pointed out, untying his horse. “We need to make a plan. Get more people.”

“And give them more time? Did you fall out of a stupid tree this morning, Nathaniel?” Anders pinched the bridge of his nose and pursed his lips. “I have lived under templars, Nathaniel. I know what they are like. I know what they will do to someone like Fenris. If we do not try to get to them as soon as possible, he will either be skinned for his lyrium, or will be cowering in a corner somewhere wishing for someone to kill him. I’m not doing this. You can either help or not.” The mage was already walking down the road, away from Nathaniel, who swore under his breath and led his horse after Anders.

“At least let us stop in Amaranthine to get another horse and supplies. We can ask at the Chantry if they have any information on renegade templars.”

“I thought Feyar tossed all the templars out of Amaranthine?” Anders looked over his shoulder at the rogue who was mounting the horse. Nathaniel put out a hand to pull Anders up behind him again.

“She did, but the Revered Mother is still there. She just said they couldn’t have an army anymore.”

“You think maybe the Divine is upset about that?”

“Of course she is.”

“Maybe the Chantry is declaring war on the Ferelden Wardens?”

“Maybe. I hope not. We have enough shit to worry about without having to kill templars too.”

“Sounds like a perfect day to me,” Anders replied with a grin.


	5. Part Four

His arms hurt. A lot. The pain was mostly in his shoulders, and he groaned. Fenris made an attempt to shift, and try to relieve the pressure, but found he couldn’t really move. He opened his eyes, blinking a few times in the bright light of the room he was in. His arms were above his head. He could feel the cuffs digging into his wrists and he winced again. There were chains on his ankles too, and he could just barely feel the floor with the tips of his toes. If he’d been human-sized he probably would have been able to touch the ground.

It was cold. They’d taken his clothes as well, and he did not like this. Fenris had not been completely bare in front of anyone for a very long time. It made him nervous and uncomfortable, and now that he could see that there were at least three other people in the room, his temper was beginning to build at the humiliation.

“Knight-Commander, he’s awake,” a young woman said. Fenris saw someone in bright armour turn around and he blinked a few times, trying to focus on them as they came closer. A handsome man with dark hair finally leaned down to eye level with him.

“Hello there, my elf-friend,” he said gently. “How are you feeling?” Fenris badly wanted to spit in the man’s eye, but he didn’t have enough spit. He wondered briefly how long he’d been hanging there, and stayed silent, his green eyes watching the templar warily. The Knight-Commander straightened and started to walk around Fenris, looking him over. The elf tried to turn his head, not liking the idea of the templar being behind him, but his arms hurt too much for his neck to stretch that way. His body jerked forward as he felt a hand on his back, and he growled in Arcanum at the templar, who seemed amused by the reaction.

“Do not touch me, templar!” Fenris tried to shift his body, to keep away from the man’s hands, but the Knight-Commander ignored him, trailing his fingers lightly over the lyrium lines on the elf’s back.

“Was that Arcanum? The other knights have a theory about you being a Tevinter magister. It seems they were not far off the mark,” the Knight-Commander said, his hand trailing ever lower over the elf’s back, tracing each curve and line. Fenris’ muscles quivered involuntarily under the light touch, his face burning with shame as memories of Danarius’ hands tracing similar patterns over his skin were dredged up in the back of his mind. The Knight-Commander walked around the rest of the way, his fingers resting lightly on the elf’s hip. “I am Knight-Commander Gerald, and you... are Fenris, I believe,” the man said, his dark blue eyes locking onto Fenris’ green ones. The elf’s eyes widened slightly, not sure what to make of the fact that he was known to this person, and definitely not liking the way he was being touched.

“You’re curious as to how I know that? There is a missive on you and your companions,” Gerald straightened, but his hand was still on Fenris’ hip, “Garrett Hawke, apostate. Captain Isabela, raider. Varric Tethras, a dwarven ‘storyteller’. Merrill, the Dalish apostate. Aveline Vallen, current Viscount of Kirkwall. Raghnall Skovgaard, better known as ‘Anders’. And Fenris, strange elf with equally strange tattoos.” He listed each of them off easily from memory, his eyes not leaving Fenris’. His hand left the elf’s hip, which made Fenris relax slightly, at least until the Knight-Commander’s fingers started tracing the lines on his neck, and down his chest. He shivered under the delicate touch, his body already reacting to memories that he did not want unearthed. Gerald seemed to realise this, and continued his feather light touches. “So these strange tattoos are lyrium then. I can hear their song, calling to me. It interests me that you haven’t lost your mind to these markings. Makes me very curious if whatever has been done to you can help templars with their own lyrium addiction.” The Knight-Commander straightened, pulling his fingers away from Fenris. The elf caught a whine in the back of this throat at the loss of the touch, and let out a string of curses to cover the noise.

Fenris closed his eyes angrily and strained against the chains holding him, his muscles trembling at the effort. The action seemed to amuse the templar and he smiled slightly, watching the elf thrash about in futile desperation.

“Knight-Lieutenant Lariah? Please let the prisoner down and escort him to my chambers. I will be along shortly,” Gerald said, turning to the brunette woman who had spoken earlier. She nodded and saluted as the Knight Commander left the room, followed by the other templar who had been standing at the door, out of Fenris’ line of sight. When the door closed, she moved out of Fenris’ line of sight. He could hear her messing with something that slowly lowered him to the floor and let his arms down. Fenris leaned on the hook that was holding his hands in place heavily, his legs shaking and his arms burning with pain. Lariah walked in front of him and carefully unhooked his manacles from the device, allowing him to collapse into a heap at her feet. She knelt down and unhooked the manacles around his feet from the floor as well, still leaving him chained, but no longer attached to the ceiling or floor.

“You had better not try anything, elf,” she said, somewhat gently, as she threw a blanket around his naked shoulders, giving him time to rest a moment. “Your chains have anti-magic enchantments on them to keep you from doing anything rash.”

“I am not a mage,” he croaked at her, coughing and trying to catch his breath.

“So you say. I saw what you did on the road to Ser Rory. You stuck your hand right through him. He was dead and didn’t have a scratch on his armour. It looked like magic to me,” she replied, and pulled him to his feet, though all his muscles protested. She took the chains between his hands and pulled him along, stumbling with only the blanket to cover himself with, behind her.

“The Knight-Commander said that you’re friends with the people who started this mage rebellion. That you helped start it. I’m not sure why he hasn’t killed you outright, but I suppose learning about your magic is a good idea first.” She sounded disgusted as she dragged him along down a long hallway. He seemed to have made it out of the dungeon somehow when he passed out, which he supposed was a step up. She stopped in front of a door and knocked lightly before opening it. Fenris found himself in a large, opulent bedchamber. There was a desk to one side, a fireplace, candles, rugs, a couch, and one very large bed. A glimpse out the window showed him that it was nighttime, and that he was definitely high up. He could see a good portion of the lake from where he was standing, even if it was a little fuzzy.

“Here you are. Don’t even think about escaping. The Knight-Commander will be along shortly,” Lariah told him, and left him there, closing the door with a very solid finality behind her. Fenris limped over to the couch, not liking the idea of Gerald finding him on the bed, and sank into the cushions, resting his burning muscles.

 _Dear Maker,_

 _Please... I... Help me. Please._

 _Fenris._


	6. Part Five

He awoke with a start.

Fenris blinked stupidly and rubbed his eyes, not even remembering falling asleep. His limbs weren’t as sore now, but there was still a dull ache, reminding him not to overdo it if he wanted to be able to move at all later. He was still in the Knight-Commander’s room, curled up like a cat on his couch, the blanket wrapped around him tightly to keep out the early autumn breeze coming through the window. Fenris sat up slowly, the chains rustling as he moved.

“I see you’ve awakened.”

Fenris’ eyes darted to the sound of the voice. Gerald was sitting at the desk on the other side of the room in his breeches and shirt. His armour was settled on the stand next to him. Fenris did not see a weapon anywhere nearby and the temptation to strangle the man with his chains, or thrust his hand into the templar’s chest was very strong. He knew it would do him no good at the moment, however. He had no idea where in the tower he was or how to get out without alerting every templar in the building. He was not strong enough yet to try and fight them all off.

“You can feel free to try and escape,” Gerald said, standing up and stretching. “I’m curious to see if you can.” Fenris frowned and pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping the thin blanket around as much of his body as he could, eyes following the templar warily. Gerald just chuckled and moved across the room slowly, sinking into a crouch a few feet away from Fenris. He looked as if he were trying to make friends with a feral animal, as he held out a piece of bread. “I assume you’re hungry?”

The elf eyed the bread, and then the templar, not trusting either. “What do you want from me?” Fenris asked him after a moment, his voice hoarse and dry. Gerald smiled gently at the elf and shrugged.

“I want to learn about you and those markings. I want to know who would do that to someone. It must’ve been painful.”

“Excruciating, but I cannot help you. I do not remember most of it,” Fenris shifted on the couch, trying to find a way to sit that did not dig the metal cuffs on his ankles into his flesh.

“Who did it to you?”

“My former master,” Fenris replied, his eyes taking in the room again, looking for anything he could use to defend himself, or to escape with.

“Were you a slave?”

“Yes.”

“How long have you had those markings?” Fenris shrugged, his eyes darting toward Gerald as the templar scooted a little closer.

“Fifteen years or more,” the elf responded, focusing on the templar as the man shuffled a little closer again.

“And you have not...” Gerald’s face registered surprise. “Do you drink lyrium potions? Sniff lyrium dust?” Fenris made a disgusted face and shifted on the couch, moving to the other side, further away from the Knight-Commander.

“No. I have no use for such things.”

“Your master, he was a mage, I assume?” Gerald looked a little exasperated that the elf had moved further away and shifted his angle, scooting closer to the couch still.

“A Tevinter Magister, yes.” Fenris frowned, pulling his legs in as close as he could. “It was a blood magic ritual.”

“Oh.” Gerald pursed his lips thoughtfully then and pulled himself onto the other end of the couch, within arms length of Fenris now. Fenris had a feeling, from watching the man across from him, that a blood mage ritual would not stop him if it meant having more lyrium warriors around. “What was your master’s name?”

“Danarius. He’s dead.”

“I see,” Gerald said, and put the bread on the cushion between them for Fenris to take if he wanted. Fenris stared at the bread, his stomach grumbling at him, reminding him that he did, in fact, need to eat. The elf watched Gerald closely for a moment in silence. The Knight-Commander was thinking, his eyes drifted off in a different direction. When he was sure the Commander was distracted, his hand darted out and grabbed the bread. With lightning fast reflexes Gerald moved, grabbing the chain attached to Fenris’ wrist quickly before the elf had time to pull completely away. He used the surprise to jerk the elf forward, wrapping the chain around his own wrist to get a better grip. Fenris made a panicked noise as he was pulled forward across the couch. Gerald dragged Fenris the rest of the way, so the elf was forced to leave the blanket behind and was soon, eye-to-eye with the templar.

“I might be willing to let you go if you tell me where your friends are at,” Gerald said softly, his lips very close to Fenris’. He growled angrily at the templar and his markings flared brightly, he would teach this templar a lesson...

Pain shot up his arms and legs like flames. He vaguely heard himself cry out. The templar didn’t let him go, through the haze of pain he could see those blue eyes looking at him with curious detachment. He was breathing heavily when the pain subsided, and he shook his head a little to clear his vision.

“Interesting,” Gerald said, tilting his head a little and looking at Fenris again. “The enchantments on the chains do not stop you from using your power, but it makes it very painful for you. I have never seen a reaction like that. You were right when you said you were not a mage. Mages would not be able to even use a tiny bit of their power.” The templar seemed very interested in what had happened and trailed a finger over one of Fenris’ tattoos, raising an eyebrow curiously when Fenris hissed in pain and tried to move away. “I may have to bring someone up from the cells to take a look at you further,” he mumbled to himself, and stood, pulling Fenris with him. The elf stumbled off of the couch, tripping and swearing. He tried to pull back, using most of his considerable strength to free himself, but Gerald only grunted and pulled harder. He was still too weak to fully call upon the reserves of power that his markings usually granted him, and the templar was taller than him by a head and probably outweighed him by forty or fifty pounds, so he was almost embarrassingly easy to drag across the room. Gerald pulled him onto the bed and wrapped the chain around something that was on the wall above the head-board. Fenris heard it lock with an audible _click_.

“Now, now, don’t look at me like that,” Gerald said with a smirk at the angry elf, who was already pulling against the chains and the wall as hard as he could. “And don’t pull like that. You’ll just hurt your wrists.” The templar grabbed Fenris’ chin roughly and forced the elf to look him in the eye. “I think I might enjoy breaking you. But not right now. I shall go downstairs and see who we have that can give me more information on your markings.” Gerald let go of Fenris and started toward the door, but he stopped before he reached it, a thought seeming to occur to him. He came back, passing the bed and picking up a plate from his desk. There was a little of the bread still on it and some cheese. He walked with it and stopped at the end of the bed, placing it right at the edge, where Fenris could not possibly reach it, considering how short his chains were and that he was chained to the other side of the bed.

“I’ll be back,” he said with a self-satisfied smirk, and left the room, ignoring the string of curses that followed him.


	7. Part Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some Non-Con in this chapter.

Gerald returned some time later to find Fenris sitting on the floor next to the bed, with his arms above his head and his wrists bleeding a little. He’d kicked the plate across the room, which made it dangerous to walk across with the sharp pieces of china scattered across the floor. He looked at the elf, amused.

“My goodness. You certainly made a good try of it,” he said, coming carefully into the room, followed by a old man in rags and chains. Fenris watched the templar warily. “Sit down Irving.” The old man shambled to the couch and sat down gingerly while Gerald came over to Fenris. The elf growled at him and resisted as the templar took hold of his chains and pulled him up and onto the bed again. He was trying his hardest to make everything as difficult as possible for Gerald, Fenris was not going to cooperate with this man even if his life depended on it. Gerald just laughed, though, seeming to find his rebellion amusing.

“All right Irving, I want you to come look at him and tell me about these brands,” Gerald said, glancing over his shoulder at the old man, who sighed and stood up carefully. Irving looked like he was a very old human, Fenris noticed as he got closer. His hair was long and shaggy, mostly grey with white streaking through it and his beard. He was very thin under the rags that he had on and the chains looked almost comically huge on him.

“Do not be alarmed, young man. I will not harm you,” he said in a voice that was suddenly very familiar to Fenris.

“You were in the cell next to me,” he said, blinking. Irving gave him a strange look and then smiled slightly.

“So the lyrium you had with you was this?” he said, gently touching Fenris’ elbow. The elf shied from the touch, but nodded, his eyes moving away from the aged mage and moving to Gerald again. The templar was standing to the side, watching very carefully. “Who did this to you?”

“My former master, a blood mage in Tevinter,” Fenris replied, his eyes still following Gerald as the templar began to pace, china crunching under his boots.

“It’s horrific, who would do this to a person?” The elf gave Irving a startled look, surprised to see the old man’s face barely containing the anger he seemed to feel.

“Can it be copied?” Gerald asked, interrupting the mage.

“....” Irving staightened a little and his mouth set in a disapproving frown. “It would likely kill any but the strongest warriors.”

“But he has no addiction, no side effects. It could help templars!” Gerald snarled, his pacing growing more erratic. “No more dust, no more potions!”

“I’m sure there are side-effects,” Irving replied calmly and looked at Fenris with a raised eyebrow. The elf shrugged.

“I have no memory of my life before these markings were put on me,” he said. Gerald scoffed and stopped pacing to look at them both.

“And your master trained you up to become a perfect warrior, with no pre-conceptions, no prejudices. You were a blank slate. Think of the templars we could make!” His blue eyes were feverish as he looked upon the lines on Fenris’ body. “How much lyrium would we need?” Irving looked at Fenris and then back to Gerald.

“Three or four thousand gold worth,” Irving estimated. “Pure lyrium.” He touched Fenris’ arm again, rubbing his thumb over the lines. “Yes.” Gerald seemed to deflate a little at that. He walked to the door and opened it.

“Get out, Irving. Lariah! Take the First Enchanter back to his quarters!” The female templar from before came into the room, waiting for Irving. The old man sighed and gently pat Fenris on the arm.

“Good luck, lad. May the Maker watch over you,” he said softly before allowing himself to be led out of the room. When they were gone, Gerald closed the door and locked it. He began to pace again and Fenris watched him, not sure what was going to be done with him now. He noticed that the room was growing lighter as the templar paced. It was dawn. He wondered briefly how long he had been unconscious, as he knew Kinloch Hold was far from Amaranthine. His stomach was telling him that he hadn’t eaten anything solid in quite a while as well.

The templar was mumbling to himself now, he looked feverish and strange. Fenris watched as he finally went to his desk and rifled through it, looking for something, and seeming frustrated when he couldn’t find it. Gerald turned around, leaning on the desk, his eyes focusing on Fenris for a moment. The look in the templar’s eyes reminded him of someone. Someone in Kirkwall he’d seen with that same look. Of need and want and desperation. He finally seemed to think of something and came across the room slowly. Gerald sat on the edge of the bed, his hand reaching out and resting on Fenris’ leg. Fenris tried to move away, but the templar’s fingers dug into his skin roughly, holding him still for the moment.

“Elves really are almost completely hairless, aren’t they?” he said, almost to himself, his fingers trailing over the lines on Fenris’ calf, finally stopping at the knee. “So smooth.” His hand slid further up the elf’s thigh, causing the warrior to tighten his muscles involuntarily and try to move away again. Gerald gripped Fenris’ leg hard enough to make him gasp in pain, before the templar used his grip to pull Fenris across the sheets of the bed, closer to him. The white-haired elf attempted to fight a little, but the manacles on his hands only dug deeper into the cuts he’d given himself pulling at the chains earlier. The fight seemed to amuse Gerald and he looked thoughfully at Fenris, his fingers making lazy circles on the inside of the elf’s thigh, which was doing things to Fenris that he really didn’t want it to do.

“I wonder,” he hummed to himself, and leaned forward. Fenris leaned back, trying to see what it was that Gerald was going to do. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to force himself not to react as Gerald’s tongue curiously flicked over a lyrium line on his stomach. The templar’s hand slid between Fenris’ legs completely now, his hand wrapping around the elf’s rebellious cock as it began to stiffen. Fenris closed his eyes tightly, trying to force himself to relax, not to react. He bit the inside of his cheek again, and tried to think about anything that would distract him from the feeling of Gerald’s tongue lazily trailing over the brands on his stomach, then up his chest, and around a nipple. Fenris took a deep, ragged breath as Gerald’s fingers began to stroke the soft flesh of his erection.

“You are very handsome to look at,” Gerald said, his breath teasing Fenris’ ear. “Especially when you’re trying to resist.”

“When I get out of these chains, human, I am going to rip your heart from your chest,” Fenris half-snarled, half-groaned. He could feel his cheeks burning with embarrassment and anger at the way he was reacting to this. He didn’t want the attention from the templar, he didn’t want it to feel good.

 _Please Maker, please. I beg you..._

Gerald’s tongue was trailing over the edge of his ear, eliciting an involuntary shudder from the elf. His hand continued to casually stroke Fenris, seemingly enjoying the obvious anguish he was causing.

Fenris almost wanted to cry with relief when someone pounded on the door.

Gerald made an annoyed sound, but released the chained elf and moved away. He went to the door and opened it, mumbling angrily with someone in the hallway before scoffing and throwing the door wide. “Fine, take him back down to his cell, give him some water and look to those cuts on his wrists. Do not unchain him. I will deal with our messengers after breakfast.”

 _Thank you, Maker..._


	8. Part Seven

_Dear Maker,_

 _I think I’m going to throw up. Seriously. It’s not going to be pretty. Save me the humiliation. Or if you won’t, at least let me hit Nathaniel’s shoes._

 _No love,_

 _Anders._

The closer they had gotten to the tower, the more his stomach churned. He wasn’t sure he was going to be able to handle this. They had followed the trail, just the two of them. He was really quite surprised that Nathaniel had actually let him get this far. He’d mostly been running on adrenaline until now. Now, he could see the tower. It was still a few hours away, but it was making him nervous the closer they got. He could feel Justice just underneath the surface, waiting, sometimes pushing. He had managed to maintain control so far, but Anders was pretty sure he would not have control the moment they saw their first templars.

“Nathaniel?”

“Hm?”

“I...” he took a deep breath, “I don’t think I’ll be able to keep Justice... under control when we...”

“I know.”

“How do you know?” Anders asked, annoyed. “Nevermind, stupid question. I just... I’m sorry I dragged you along.”

“Oh, so you apologise now for your reckless behaviour. I think that’s an apology that is ten years overdue,” Nathaniel replied, glancing over his shoulder at the blond mage. “Why are you chasing after the elf, anyway? I got the impression you two didn’t like each other much.” Anders pulled on the reins of his horse, stopping in the middle of the road. The question had taken him by surprise. Nathaniel kept going for a bit before noticing that Anders had stopped. He manoeuvred around to face the mage, leaning forward across his mount’s neck. “You okay?”

Nathaniel frowned as the mage’s horse started forward again. He could see the blue cracks seeping through Anders’ clothes.

“Anders?”

“ **We have no time for these distractions, Nathaniel** ,” Justice said, moving past the rogue again, bringing the horse to a trot. “ **We are already two days behind, there is no telling what kind of injustices have been perpetrated by these templars**.”

“He’s not a mage, there’s no reason for them to harm him,” Nathaniel said, moving his horse to catch up. “And from what I’ve heard, you like him even less than Anders does.”

“ **He is a distraction to Anders. Our goals have been delayed because of the elf**.”

“A distraction?” Nathaniel raised his eyebrows and smiled a little. “Well yes, he is something of a distraction, I do admit, but he’s a very useful one.”

“ **If we had been alone in Alamar, we would have escaped the island much more quickly, and had the collar removed. Because of the elf we were distracted. Anders refused to leave him behind in his condition** ,” Justice sounded annoyed. Which was strange for Nathaniel. He was used to the spirit sounding curious, awed, firm, but not annoyed. Perhaps the lyrium warrior was not a distraction to Anders alone.

“How should we proceed to get into the tower?” Nathaniel asked, pulling his horse up next to Justice’s. They would likely reach Kinloch village within the next half-hour.

“ **I believe that subterfuge may be in order** ,” Justice said with some distaste. Nathaniel nodded.

“Let me do the talking, okay? Let’s see if we can get hold of some templar armour in the village. We can pretend to be messengers or something.”

*

Nathaniel shifted uncomfortably in the foyer of the tower. The templar armour they’d ‘procured’ was itchy and heavy. How they walked around in these things all day long, he had no idea. The rogue had managed to bluff their way onto the boat across the lake and into the tower itself, claiming to have a message for the Knight-Commander. He couldn’t believe he let Anders drag him into this mess with no plan or back up.

They had been waiting now for almost an hour. Apparently the Knight-Commander wished to have his breakfast first. Asshole. He heard noises coming from the other side of the door now, coming closer. He glanced at Justice briefly - the rage emanating from the spirit was almost palpable since they’d entered the tower.

The door opened and a young man wearing armour entered, crossing the room purposefully and sitting behind the desk. Nathaniel was surprised that this young man was the Knight-Commander. He always thought the Commander was an older man.

“You have a message?” the young man said, pursing his lips and looking from Nathaniel to Anders and back again. “Get on with it, I have much to do.” Nathaniel licked his lips and nodded, moving idly toward the door, putting himself between it and the templar. Before he could even come up with a good lie, Justice was at the knight’s side, his hand around the man’s throat. Nathaniel closed the door quickly, hoping it didn’t sound too obvious, though there hadn’t been anyone in the hall.

“ **Where is Greagoir?** ”

“He... died... during the... tower... rebel...lion,” the templar said, choking on his words as the spirit pulled him physically out of his chair by the throat. Nathaniel could not see Justice’s face, but the body seemed to consider that answer for the moment before taking the young man’s sword from him, sliding it across the floor toward Nathaniel, who stopped it with his foot.

“ **What you have done here is an injustice. You will be punished.** ”

“Not right now, Justice. We need him.” Nathaniel came across the room and gently released the young man from the spirit’s grip. “Where do you keep the prisoners?” Nathaniel kept a tight grip on the collar of the Knight-Commander’s chest piece.

“Why should I tell you? Who _are_ you?”

“You should tell me because if you don’t, I’ll let him have his way with you,” Nathaniel replied. “You won’t enjoy that. He doesn’t like templars.”

“ **They are likely in the tower dungeons. There are solitary confinement cells there. It is the most logical place.** ”

“Sounds good. How do we get down there and back out again without getting ourselves killed?”

“ **Prisoner transfer.** ”

“Ah well. I suppose I don’t mind dying today. Templars wasn’t exactly the way I thought I’d go, but we don’t always get to choose our deaths.” Nathaniel grinned a little as he said it, pulling the young man across the room. “All right junior, take off the armour.” The templar looked at him blankly for a moment. “Armour, off. If you want to live, I suggest removing it all quickly.”

“ **What are you doing?** ”

“Making sure he can’t make any trouble for us. It would be inconvenient if the others found a dead body in here. Go on, take it off.”

Justice made a disapproving noise, but did not interfere as the templar was forced to remove his armour, and then his clothing, leaving him in nothing but his smallclothes. Nathaniel took the opportunity to open the armoire that he’d pulled the young man over to, pulled out anything that looked like it could be used as a weapon, and then pushed the templar into it. He closed the door and locked it, dropping the small key into his boot.

“C’mon Justice. They hopefully won’t find him for a while, and we’ll be long gone by then.”


	9. Part Eight

He had been given water and carted back down to the dungeon. He had curled up in the corner with the blanket, as far back into the cell as he could get. He did not want to leave it again any time soon. His feelings were mixed at the moment. Part of him understood Anders’ hatred for templars now. He knew, of course, that anyone in a position of power was likely to abuse that power, but after so many years following Hawke, and then being (unofficially) under the Warden Commander, it was easy to forget. Many of the templars he had met personally in Kirkwall were not terrible; Cullen, Thrask, Keran. Meredith had been driven mad by the idol (though he wasn’t so sure now that she hadn’t been somewhat mad to begin with), but overall, Fenris’ experiences with templars had been neutral at worst.

Now, though. Now he understood. There were many templars in this tower. All of them had to be quite aware of what was in this dungeon. How these prisoners were being treated. Even he, a non-mage was no better than a toy for the Knight-Commander’s whim. The only person to show him any kindness since he’d been brought here was an elderly mage. A _mage_.

He needed to make a plan. He had to get away some how. To get others. To bring people here to... to tear down this horrible place. Fenris wrapped his arms around his knees and buried his face, trying to calm himself. He needed to be clear and focused. He had escaped Danarius, he could get out of this.

Couldn’t he?

“Ooh, keys. That’s handy. They just leave them here? They’re either very sure in their security, or very stupid.”

Fenris frowned and lifted his head. That voice sounded familiar.

“ **How many are down here?** ”

He stood up, wrapping the blanket around his waist, the chains clinking as he moved.

“A-Anders?” he said softly, moving toward the door.

“Fenris!” He heard them move to the door and the clanking of keys being thrust into the lock again and again until one finally turned. The door swung open and Fenris blinked in the torchlight. He saw two templars standing there, and panicked, backing into the cell again. It had been a trick, he hadn’t heard Justice.

“Fenris?” The templar stepped carefully into the cell, trying to calm the elf down. “It’s Nathaniel. It’s okay.” He put his hands up, showing Fenris he had no weapons. “If you stay still I’ll try to-”

“ **We must leave them on to continue the ruse of a prisoner transfer.** ”

“Shit, yes, he’s right. I’m sorry, Fenris, we have to leave them on.” The templar moved closer to Fenris, who tried to press himself into the wall. He didn’t want to be touched by them again. They probably had more of that poison or whatever it was that knocked him out.

“Stay away from me!” Fenris growled, hoping he sounded threatening. It seemed almost ridiculous when he was still chained hand and foot and could not call on his markings without a great deal of pain.

“Fen- Oh Fuck,” the templar said, and reached up, removing his helmet and pushing his sweaty, black hair out of his face. “How they wear those things all the time, I will never know.”

“ **We do not have time for this. I will free the others** ,” Justice said, and took the keys from Nathaniel, moving down the hall to begin unlocking doors. Fenris began to tremble, he was so relieved. No more templars, no more chains. Fenris stumbled a little as Nathaniel tried to lead him out of the cell. He was somewhat adverse to being touched by anyone at the moment, least of all someone wearing plate armour.

“Why are you wearing a blanket?” Nathaniel murmured to himself, frowning. The blanket was making things awkward Fenris tried to walk, getting caught in the chains at his feet. The rogue knelt down in front of Fenris, inspecting the cuffs around his ankles for a moment.

Fenris closed his eyes and willed himself to stay still, running a mantra through his head that it was Nathaniel and Nathaniel was not here to hurt him and that he needed to stay still so Nathaniel could help. Gerald’s tormenting was still very fresh in his mind. It was becoming difficult to remain calm. It was becoming difficult to breathe. He heard a clicking noise and felt the weight of the chains removed from his ankles, but he was still trembling.

“ **They have been released.** ” Justice was behind him then and his body tensed a little. Of course Anders would not be able to keep the anger of the spirit at bay, not within a den of templars. Fenris could hardly blame him. The spirit sounded frustrated, and Fenris could hear the mages moving around in the hall behind him.

“We can’t save them all, Justice. There are only two of us!” Nathaniel whispered fiercely, and stuffed the helmet back onto his head. Nathaniel reached out, taking Fenris’ shoulder, but the elf jerked away in surprise, stumbling a little. Justice reached out and steadied him gently.

“We will be fine,” Irving said, coming forward. “Outside of the enchanted cells, we can use our magic again. We will give you time before we make our move.”

“...Thank you,” Nathaniel said, relaxing a little.

“We’re mostly old windbags, we can take care of ourselves,” Irving assured them with a smile. Fenris could feel Justice fidget at his back, the spirit was restless and frustrated with having to be ‘sneaky’. Fenris looked around Justice at the mages who had been coming out into the hall. There were probably twenty of them, humans and elves, all just as filthy and ragged as Irving and himself.

“Irving?” Fenris called softly. The older man turned and looked at the elf, smiling.

“Yes, child?” Fenris paused a moment, blinking. He was far from a child, but he supposed to someone as old as Irving, everyone was a child.

“Um... I just, wanted... to thank you,” he said awkwardly.

“What has been done to you, is unconscionable. You are blessed that the Maker has given you the strength to endure it,” Irving smiled. Fenris blinked at that. It seemed strange to him, that with all that had been done to this man, all that he had endured, he still thanked the Maker.

“We have to go. _Now_ ,” Nathaniel urged. “If any of you make it out of the tower, try to get to Vigil’s Keep, the Commander has made it very clear that mages are welcome there.” Irving nodded his thanks and lifted a hand in farewell as the two ersatz templars urged Fenris up the stairs.


	10. Part Nine

“Oh, Maker, this stuff is horrible!” Anders pulled the templar armour off as fast as he could and kicked it across the small clearing into the bushes with enthusiasm. Their escape from the tower had only been eventful when they had to explain to the templar ferryman why they were bringing the elf along. Nathaniel had stopped in town for only a moment, to get Fenris something other than a blanket to wear. Fenris had sat in front of Anders, exhausted as they rode the horses as hard as they dared up the North Road until the sun began to go down.

Anders had managed to reassert his control over Justice after the tower had disappeared behind a hill, but he had remained quiet, choosing to study the elf in front of him instead. Anders had frowned at the wounds on his wrists, the bruises on his back and chest, not to mention how thin he was. Had they not fed him the entire trek from Amaranthine to Kinloch? Nathaniel had finally pulled them off the road into a thicket and declared it to be their camp for the night.

“They won’t be able to see our fire from the road, so any pursuit will hopefully miss us,” Nathaniel had explained and then set to work picking the locks on Fenris’ manacles while Anders stripped his templar armour off. He turned and pulled a pack off of his horse, opening it and rooting around for something before pulling a rolled up duster out and pulling it on over his shirt and breeches he’d worn under the armour.

“It’s bloody hot. How do they stand it?” Anders pulled out the shirt and breeches that Nathaniel had bought for Fenris and turned around. Nathaniel was just pulling the manacles off and tossing them away. Anders walked over and dropped the clothes into Fenris’ lap before sitting down. He reached for Fenris’ hands, but the elf pulled away.

“I’ll get a fire going, shall I?” Nathaniel stood up and started moving around the clearing and into the brush, picking up firewood and kindling.

“Fenris, let me see your wrists. They don’t look too bad, but you’ve been bleeding and those manacles and that dungeon weren’t exactly clean...” Anders frowned and held out his hands for Fenris. The elf shifted a little, looking uncomfortable and glancing at the horse.

“Just give me some bandages. I will wrap them,” he suggested. Anders raised an eyebrow. Fenris didn’t like magic, but he had never outright refused healing, even from Anders.

“I can probably heal them right up easily, Fenris. I just want to make sure you don’t have an infection,” Ander explained, reaching for the elf’s hands again.

“I’m fine!” Fenris snapped, and then bit his lip. “I... I mean, I’m fine,” he repeated, more gently this time.

“There’s a stream through the thicket there,” Nathaniel said, coming back toward them. “If anyone wants a bath. Templar armour is scratchy and sweaty. I certainly wouldn’t mind getting clean.”

“Maker, yes,” Anders agreed, smiling a little, but glanced at Fenris and back to Nathaniel.

“I’ll get the fire started and some food ready, why don’t you two get clean and then you can keep the food going while I get clean?” the archer suggested, looking from Anders to Fenris and back. Anders gave Nathaniel a grateful look and stood up.

“No soap, but at least we can get some of the sweat and grime off, right Fenris?” Anders said, offering a hand to help the elf stand. Fenris ignored his hand and stood up shakily, carrying his clothes and following the direction Nathaniel had pointed out. Anders frowned again and followed the elf through the trees. The stream wasn’t deep, but there was a spot that would probably come to their waists or a little lower. Anders pulled his shirt off, watching Fenris out of the corner of his eye as the elf put the new clothes down. He hesitated with his hand on the blanket, glancing at Anders, so Anders prudently turned his back, hoping that the elf would feel more comfortable then. He pulled off his own breeches and small clothes and turned around only when he heard the splash of water that indicated Fenris was already in the stream. He walked toward the water, watching Fenris, who had wrapped his arms around his body, shivering a little in the cold water. Anders slid into the water behind him and dunked his head under quickly, hoping to get acclimated to the cold water. When he came up again, Fenris had moved a few steps away and was rubbing at some dirt on his arm.

“So what happened?” Anders asked, rubbing the water out of his beard and thinking he probably needed to trim it soon before it got out of control, like Hawke’s beard. He was pretty sure it had small animals living in it, and was probably a portal to the Fade.

“What?” Fenris turned a little and blinked at Anders.

“That’s a bruise, you can’t wash it off,” Anders pointed out, nodding to the spot on Fenris’ arm that he’d been trying to clean for the past few minutes. “What happened on the road when you and Sigrun were attacked?” Fenris dropped his hands into the water, trying to focus on cleaning his wrists instead, but Anders could tell the elf’s mind was definitely elsewhere.

“They knew we were coming. Knocked me down and put a rag on my face that made me pass out,” Fenris replied, rubbing at his wrists under the water now.

“...And then?”

“And then I woke up, they gave me water, and they knocked me out again. Repeat six or seven more times and then I woke up in the tower dungeon with rotting deep mushrooms in my nose,” Fenris replied, rubbing more roughly at his wrists, his eyes looking anywhere but at Anders.

“And then?” Anders asked softly. He moved forward in the water and took one of Fenris’ hands, attempting to inspect the cuts. Fenris breathed in sharply, but tried to stay still. Anders could feel his hand trembling as he looked at the cut. “...Fenris?” Anders looked up at the elf, who was holding very still now, staring at some point to the left, away from the mage. Fenris pulled his hand away from Anders.

“And then nothing. They looked at my markings, they asked me questions, and then you and Nathaniel came.”

“They had you unconscious for almost six days?!” Anders stared at the elf for a moment. No wonder he looked thinner. If they’d only given him water that entire time. Though he suppose he couldn’t blame them, if they’d left him awake long enough to eat something he probably would have ripped all their hearts out within an hour. Fenris just shrugged and splashed some water onto his chest. “Do your bruises bother you?”

“Hn?” Anders pointed to Fenris’ hands, which were rubbing at the same bruise again. Fenris blinked and moved his hands, washing his other arm. Anders frowned a little, but didn’t push it. He finished cleaning himself off as best he could, figuring that Nathaniel would want to get the templar grime off too.

“Let’s go get something to eat, your lips are turning blue,” Anders said, pulling himself onto the bank and walking over to his clothes. He pulled on his breeches (smallclothes were so uncomfortable when you were still wet from a bath) and turned to make sure Fenris was following. The elf had dunked himself under the water to get some of the grime out of his hair and then followed Anders onto the bank. Anders tried very hard not to stare. Wet handsome elf in clothing that was clinging to said wet handsome elf was.... He coughed and pulled his own shirt on, trying to think of the most unsexy thoughts he could. Grand Cleric Elthina making out with Knight-Commander Meredith while both wearing nothing. He shuddered. “Yuck.”

“What?” Fenris had turned when he made the noise, frowning a little.

“Nothing. Just... thinking about something. Let’s get some food and some sleep. Nathaniel will probably want to take watch. He’s a show-off like that.”


	11. Part Ten

_Dear Maker,_

_...Nevermind._

_Anders._

**Why do you keep doing that? The Maker will not answer you.**

_Oh be quiet. You know that I don’t expect and answer. Just... Argh._

**You are strange.**

“Fenris?” Anders glanced over his shoulder. The elf had opted to sit behind him this time, since they didn’t have to pretend he was a prisoner any longer. For most of the day, Fenris had been quiet, and when Anders had looked back at him, he’d only seen the elf watching the landscape as they went through it. He had tried to draw the warrior into a conversation a few times, but Fenris had resisted all provocations. Even things that Anders said to deliberately gall him. Nathaniel had mentioned to the mage briefly that Fenris hadn’t slept much the night before either, while the rogue had been on watch. It was possible that he wasn’t tired. He had spent almost six days in a forced unconsciousness after all. Anders tried to tell himself that, but himself didn’t really believe it. Nathaniel had suggested that morning that they ride straight on to the Keep, since it was only another day and a half by horse from where they had camped.

Now, it was somewhere around two or three in the morning and they had crossed into the arling. Anders looked over his shoulder again at the elf who was swaying a little, making a concerted effort not to lean on Anders. In fact, he’d been very careful not to touch the mage or the archer at all since the manacles had been removed. Anders frowned, he could see Fenris rubbing at his arms again. His wrists had been wrapped with bandages, and they were already a little frayed from him rubbing at them now and again as they healed the old-fashioned way.

“Fenris,” Anders repeated. “Stop scratching, your arms are red, you’re going to start bleeding if you keep at it.”

“Mind your own business, mage,” Fenris replied, though it didn’t have its usual venom in it. In fact, it was somewhat half-hearted.

“You know, I feel like I don’t have your full attention. What happened to the snarly-growly-pissed off at the world elf that I’d come to know and hate?” Anders asked, glancing back again to see if he could get a rise out of the warrior.

“What?” He saw Fenris’ eyes turn to him blankly for a moment and Anders sighed.

“I know you don’t like me, Fenris, but... If you need someone to talk to about anything. I’ll listen. I’m pretty good at that sometimes,” Anders said. He saw Fenris frown slightly out of the corner of his eye before the elf was distracted again and started rubbing at his arms unconsciously. Anders sighed and looked ahead to where Nathaniel had slowed down to wait for them.

“We should be able to see the Keep soon. Probably be in the Main Hall again in an hour or two,” Nathaniel said, grinning a little at them.

“Thank the Maker,” Anders replied, and glanced back at Fenris. “Elf, if you do not stop scratching your arms, I’m going to wrap your hands so you can’t. I’m serious.” Anders pulled his horse to a stop and turned. “Don’t force me to make you ride in front so I can smack you every time you do it.”

Fenris gazed back at him in green-eyed astonishment before balling his hands into fists and stuffing them into his armpits. “There! Is that better?” he growled. Anders raised an eyebrow, having expected a fiercer response.

“C’mon you two lovebirds. If you’re done flirting, I’d like to get home soon,” Nathaniel said, and immediately put his horse into a canter to avoid any wild spells he was sure Anders would throw at his head.

“I really hate him,” Anders spat, and spurred his horse forward. He felt Fenris grab the back of his coat, fingers digging into his shoulder blades roughly. Anders winced a little, and felt somewhat bad for not having warned Fenris first. Oh well.

When the Keep was finally in sight, the two horses were pushed a little harder. Anders desperately wanted a real bath and a real bed and to make sure that Fenris got some food in him. As they came into the courtyard, they found Sigrun waiting for them.

“I could kill you both,” she growled at them as Nathaniel dismounted and handed his horse off to one of the guards. “What possessed you both to go running off for over a week with no messages, and leave _Velanna_ and _Oghren_ in charge of the Keep?” Anders snickered and slid off of his horse as well, followed by Fenris.

“I knew you’d be fine when you got some rest. You set them both straight didn’t you?” Anders said, giving Sigrun his most charming smile.

“Don’t you try to turn your charms on me, Anders,” she retorted, pursing her lips at him. “Fenris!” The dwarf ran forward to greet him as soon as she saw him touch the ground behind Anders, but stopped short with a frown as he moved a step back from her approach. “I’m so glad you’re okay... I was worried that they’d killed you.”

“I’m... fine,” he said slowly, his eyes finding the grass very interesting, and his hands automatically going to his arms again.

“Fenris,” Anders began, reaching out to stop him.

“Don’t!” Fenris moved away again, going directly up the stairs and leaving them behind. Anders sighed and rubbed his face before smiling at Sigrun.

“It was a very... He’ll be okay. I need a bath. Can you make sure food gets sent to his room? I don’t think he’s going to come out for a while if he can help it.” Sigrun nodded and pat Anders on the arm.

“Thanks Anders. You’re a good friend.”

“If you’re trying to butter me up, flattery is probably the best option,” Anders replied with a lop-sided grin as he followed Nathaniel and Sigrun up the stairs. “Now where’s my cat?”


	12. Part Eleven

“The Maker is testing me,” Anders said, shooting a look at Nathaniel as he paced back and forth in front of the fire pit. Nathaniel made an amused noise and rolled his eyes.

“You’re so melodramatic, Anders,” he replied, crossing his arms.

“Am I?” He pointed toward the courtyard. “I don’t see you worrying about the people out there with pitchforks and torches!” Nathaniel smiled slightly.

“They do not have pitchforks and torches,” the archer replied blandly. “Stop worrying so much.”

“Andraste’s bloody tits, Nathaniel! We started that! Those people out there are angry about something _we_ did. You and I. Us. Plural.” Nathaniel shrugged gently.

“I’d do it again.”

“...That’s not the point,” Anders huffed. Nevermind that he would have done it again in a heartbeat as well. Fenris had not come out of his room in three days so far. Ser-Pounce-a-lot was keeping him company, much to Anders’ annoyance (he missed his cat, dammit). The servants had taken to leaving a tray of food outside his door and coming back to take back the empty plates later. At least he was eating.

However, that was the least of Anders’ worries right now. He was worrying about it, of course. He didn’t like that Fenris was locking himself away and not talking to anyone or coming out. It had gotten to the point where Anders was going to pick the lock and break into the damn room and make him talk about what happened that he hadn’t been telling them. When he’d finally made up his mind to do it, and had gone to seek out Nathaniel to borrow some lockpicks, he’d found the Main Hall in a bit of a mess, and had been told that a large number of farmers and citizens of Amaranthine were in the courtyard. They wanted to speak to the Commander. Sigrun had spoken to a few of them and came back with a report of anti-mage sentiment and grumbling about the destruction of the Circle Tower by mages a few days ago.

“We let those mages out, Anders. They deserved their freedom, I know you and Justice agree with that. Why are you so worried?” Nathaniel asked, raising his eyebrow.

“Because I don’t like being cornered, especially when it’s my fault,” Anders quipped. He stopped pacing. “I mean, of course they deserved their justice and freedom. Of course we couldn’t stay and help them, there weren’t enough of us, and you’re a Warden and shouldn’t be involved in politics and stuff like that-”

“What the Chantry and Templars are doing is not politics,” Nathaniel interrupted. “I don’t care about mages, Anders. People in pain and children being hunted bothers me. Mages or not, and the Commander made it clear that she would not tolerate anything of the sort going on in the arling.”

“Me too,” Sigrun said, stepping toward them with a nod. Velanna followed her, not saying anything, but her stance was already clear. Oghren belched somewhere to their left.

“Ne’er did like those templars. Too shiny,” he said with a wide grin. “And Rolan? Really annoying. And preachy.”

“These aren’t templars though,” Anders said, though somewhere in the pit of his stomach he was feeling a little warm and fuzzy that these people agreed with Justice and him. “These are people. Scared people who know that we have mages here and that the Commander ordered all the templars out of the arling.”

“There are a few who have been singled out as the leaders of the group.” Seneschal Varel was walking toward them now. “They have requested permission to speak with the arlessa...” The Wardens all looked at each other, and then at Nathaniel.

“Why are you all looking at me?” he asked, irritated. “Oghren is the most senior Warden here.”

“Followed by me,” Anders pointed out. “You really don’t think it’d be a good idea to let Oghren or me speak with them, do you?”

“But I’m a Howe, they’re not going to listen to me, any more than they would anyone else,” he pointed out, uncrossing his arms.

“I could-” Velanna began.

“No,” Nathaniel, Anders, and Sigrun said in unison. The two men looked at Sigrun.

“Don’t look at me. I can’t speak with authority on mages and templars. Besides that, I’m dead,” she pointed out with a smirk.

“Only symbolically,” Nathaniel replied, snorting.

“I could make it permanent,” Anders offered darkly.

“Messeres....” Varel looked at each of the five senior wardens in turn, frustrated.

“Maker’s balls. Fine! I’ll do it, bring them in or whatever it is,” Anders said, stomping his feet and glaring at Nathaniel and Sigrun who both tried to look innocent. “I hate you both.” He pulled his hair back into a loose ponytail and tucked in his shirt, trying to give himself some semblence of dignity. At least he’d been able to trim his beard.

“You look fine, Sparklefingers,” Oghren grumbled at the mage, which made him blink and then grin. He hadn’t been called that in a long time.

“Maker, I miss Hawke,” Anders murmured as three people were led into the hall. Hawke would know what to do. He’d smile and be charming and fix everything right up.

“You’re not the Commander,” one of them, an older man, stated with a frown. He looked Anders over for a moment. “We want to speak with the Commander. She’s the arlessa.”

“Technically, whomever is the Warden Commander of the outpost is the arl or arlessa,” Anders began, “...but that isn’t important. Um... The Warden Commander is in Weisshaupt at the moment, on Grey Warden business. I am the most senior Warden here, what can we help you with?”

“The Commander has driven the templars out of the arling!” a middle-aged woman spoke up. “There are mages all over the place now. We need protection!”

“You need protection? I’ll-” Nathaniel stepped on Anders’ foot, forcing the mage to bite his tongue.

_Dear Maker,_

_I hate you. I hate your bride. I hate Nathaniel. I hate Sigrun. I hate Oghren. I hate Velanna. I hate Feyar. I hate Alistair. I hate Hawke and Varric and Isabela and Merrill!_

_ARGH._

“-show you what you’re so afraid of,” Anders finished, biting his lips and glaring at Nathaniel. “Come with me.” Anders gestured to the three villagers and led them out of the Main Hall and down the corridor before throwing open the door to the room that the guards and Wardens had deemed ‘the nursery’.

“This is what you need protecting from?” He watched the faces of the three nervous villagers as they peered into the room full of children. Gairyth was at the front of the room with a chalkboard they’d gotten him, writing out letters for the smaller children, while Connor was sitting with some of the older children, going through history lessons. No one in the room was over the age of twenty.

“They’re so... young!” the third villager exclaimed, a middle-aged man. “Just children!”

“I’m sure there are filthy evil adult mages out there that are doing terrible blood-magey things and deserve to be scolded by the templars, but I assure you, these are not them. These children were going to be killed by templars.” Anders closed the door and looked at them somberly. “Killed,” he repeated, “because they were mages and for no other reason.”

“Killed?” The woman frowned and looked at the door then back at Anders. “Surely not.”

“The Right of Annulment is something that the templars send to Orlais for permission to enact. It means that they are asking permission to kill all mages, regardless of age, innocence, or temperment because there is a _possibility_ that some of the mages - not all - some. Might rebel or fight or do some other equally silly thing, like asking for the right to be free,” Anders explained coldly, and turned back toward the main hall. Nathaniel had been listening and frowned slightly, giving the mage a warning look, but Anders ignored it.

“What about what happened in Kirkwall? And Kinloch Hold? We heard about those mages blowing up the Chantry and the mages that killed the templars in the Tower!” the older man asked, not to be dissuaded from the facts.

“What about them?” Anders turned round on the three villagers, crossing his arms. “The Knight-Commander in Kirkwall was a despot. She was ruling the city after their Viscount was killed and would not allow a new Viscount to be brought to his place. The mages there were tormented, tortured and made Tranquil. Even Harrowed mages, which is against _Chantry_ law. She was crazy and it was inevitable that something like that would happen,” he said, getting a bit more passionate about his subject. “The mages in Kinloch Hold were kept in the dungeon in solitary confinement with nothing but a bowl of water, a crust of bread, a blanket, some rags, and a bucket for Maker knows how long. You wouldn’t even treat your dog like that, and yet you fault mages for snapping at their ‘masters’ when they are treated like that?”

“An-Warden!” Nathaniel said, catching himself. Anders sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I apologise,” he said to the three villagers and opened the door to the Main Hall. “I assure you, there is nothing to worry about. If you see people raising demons, come to the Keep, we’ll get rid of them for you.”

“We should bring the templars back,” the older man insisted, but the other two didn’t seem so sure.

“Those same templars that were driving away your customers by standing at the docks and the city gates, going through each package and weeding out anyone that might be a mage for interrogation?” Anders inquired as politely as he could.

“Yes... well... I guess they were getting... But there should be some templars in the city, shouldn’t there?”

“Does your Chantry need protecting from anything?”

“Not really...”

“Then I don’t see the need for templars. If you’re worried, we can send more guards to bolster the City Guard ranks?”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” the woman said, speaking up again. She took the older gentleman by the arm. “Thank you, Warden. This has been most... enlightening.” She and the other man nodded to the Wardens in the hall and were escorted out by Varel.

“That could have been worse,” Sigrun said, grinning at Anders. He put his head in his hands and took a deep breath.

“I hate you all,” he growled, “I can’t believe you made me do that. That... it... It WASN’T NICE,” he finished and stalked out of the room. He passed the nursery and went up the stairs into the guest area. It was quietest up here because there were rarely guests in the Keep. At the moment, the only room occupied had Fenris in it, and he wasn’t coming out anytime soon.

“Fenris?”

_Dear Maker,_

_STOP. IT._

_Anders._

The elf was standing in the hallway and turned his head to look at Anders as he came near. He looked a mess. Anders was used to the elf always looking immaculate when he had a say in the matter. Clean and dressed and pressed and ready. Right now, his clothes were untidy - as if he’d been sleeping in them - his hair was a mess, his arms were red and raw where Anders could see skin. He seemed listless.

“Fenris.” Anders frowned slightly, his earlier peak at the villagers and the Wardens fading as his healer instincts kicked in. “Come on. Let’s go back in your room.” The mage gestured toward the door, putting out his hand to gently lead Fenris, but he pulled it away when the elf flinched. Anders pushed open Fenris’ bedroom door so the elf would go in, and stepped in behind him. He stared at the room for a moment, taking it in.

The bed itself was empty, save for the orange tabby cat that was curled up in the middle of it. However, on the other side of the bed, in the corner of the room, a little behind the small desk that was there, was a pile of blankets and pillows, all built up into what looked like a nest. He stared at it a moment and frowned. Anders decided it would be best to keep anyone from disturbing them and closed the door gently as Fenris went over to the nest and curled up in it, wrapping the blankets tightly around himself like some sort of magic shield. Anders decided the bed would probably be the best place for him to sit for now and settled himself on the edge facing the elf.

Pounce yawned and stretched, coming over to grace Anders with his presence for the first time in days, purring and rubbing against his master’s hand.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding,” he said to the cat, scratching under it’s chin fondly. “I suppose at the moment, you’re needed more here.” Anders looked over at the elf and frowned a little, pulling his legs up onto the mattress. “I know you don’t really want to talk about it Fenris, but you look a mess. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

Anders watched as a number of thoughts and emotions clearly played themselves out across Fenris’ face. The elf seemed to be internally struggling with the idea of talking to Anders. Which Anders could appreciate. He supposed if he were Hawke or Varric, Fenris wouldn’t be as uneasy. He pulled his hair out of the ponytail he’d put it in earlier and ran a hand through the messy locks with a sigh.

“Look, I know I’m not Hawke. I know we’re not the best of friends. I don’t really dislike you as much as I used to. You’re less prickly, and you helped the mages in Kirkwall, and I still feel a little bad for leaving you here while you were blind. I’m willing to be a friend if you’re willing to call a truce?” Fenris licked his lips, frowning as he decided how to take Anders’ speech.

“Truce,” he replied softly after a moment, with a small nod. Pounce seemed to take that as a sign, and jumped off of the bed, crawling into the blankets with Fenris and settling on the elf’s lap with a purr.

“Apparently Pounce approves of this,” Anders said with an amused look.

“I wasn’t just Danarius’ bodyguard,” Fenris said suddenly, his voice low. Anders held his breath, watching the elf’s long fingers slide over the cat’s fluffy, orange fur. Fenris’ hair was in his face as he spoke, looking as if he were trying to hide even more. Anders let out his breath slowly as he saw a dark blush rise on Fenris’ cheeks. “We were... intimate.”

“Was it... consensual?” Anders asked gently. He saw Fenris flinch.

“At first.”

“And then...?” Anders prompted, watching the elf shift uncomfortably.

“I...” Fenris took a deep breath, staring at the cat in his lap. “I was young. I didn’t have any memory of anything before. I was... valuable. He... took advantage of my memory loss. Made me...” He closed his eyes and swallowed. It was obviously hard for him to talk about. “You remember Orana?” Fenris looked up at Anders suddenly, his green eyes wide and baleful. They made Anders’ chest constrict. He wanted to crawl into the nest that Fenris had made on the floor and make it all better.

**_The Maker is testing us._ **

“Yes, I remember her.”

“I was like that once. Eager to please my master. Would do whatever it took to make him happy, to not get punished...” He looked down again, focusing on Pounce. “The punishments weren’t bad at first. Denying me a meal, a lashing - which was always healed later so I wouldn’t scar. No, I had to look perfect all the time,” Fenris spat the last part, pursing his lips. Anders could see his shoulders tense with anger. “They became increasingly more elaborate as time went on, and usually for trifling things. Ridiculous things. As if he just was looking for an excuse to do something to me. To torment me. To break me. I didn’t have all the memories of growing up a slave. Of seeing other slaves treated like manure. I didn’t have the right...” He frowned, searching for the word. “Attitude.”

“I see...” It was difficult for Anders to imagine the sort of life that Fenris had once had, but he probably had a better mental image of it than Fenris thought. Always keeping out of the templars’ way, doing whatever it took to remain unobtrusive, unnoticed. He’d been particularly bad at that.

“He liked to remind me that I belonged to him.” Fenris shifted a little, leaning back against the wall. “Hadriana liked to remind me that I was a slave and she was a magister and as long as I was not ordered specifically to ignore her orders, I had to do what she said as well...” Anders saw him shudder slightly. “And she took advantage of that too.”

“Which accounts for your... aversion to being touched when we first met?” Anders prompted. Fenris nodded and sighed. “You had kind of gotten over that after a while, though. Didn’t you? You didn’t have a problem touching me in Alamar. Or Nathaniel or Sigrun touching you.” The elf fidgeted uncomfortably.

“That... it wasn’t.... Intimate.” Anders could see the elf trying not to blush. He supposed it was pretty embarrassing to admit these things to someone you didn’t like very much.

“...So what happened in the tower?” Anders saw a stricken look cross the elf’s face and he pulled his knees up to his chest, forcing Pounce to move.

“I... haven’t... been with anyone. Since...” Fenris took a breath and closed his eyes. “Danarius. The Knight-Commander at the tower... he...” The mage’s eyes grew wider and he slid off the bed and knelt on the floor next to Fenris.

“Are you hurt? Let me see. I want to make sure he didn’t-” Fenris startled at Anders’ sudden movement and authoritative tone.

“No! ...No, he didn’t... didn’t hurt me,” Fenris said, biting his lip. “Just... touched. A lot. It... reminded me. I...” He pushed up his sleeves to show Anders his arms. They were covered in light scratches, the skin red and angry. “I can still feel his hands. Danarius’ hands. Touching. His fingers...” Fenris blinked, surprised to feel the sting of tears in his eyes. “He’s dead and he still torments me. I can’t be free of him!”

Anders couldn’t help it. He had wished, once upon a time, that someone had done this for him, so he was not going to pass the chance to do it for someone else. The mage wrapped his arms around Fenris and pulled him to his chest. He felt the elf stiffen in shock at the sudden embrace, but Anders didn’t let go.

“It’ll be okay, Fenris,” he said. Fenris slowly relaxed after that, letting Anders hug him.


	13. Part Twelve

Fenris was moving. He frowned slightly in the early morning haze, his green eyes slowly opening and focusing. The elf licked his lips absently and swallowed. Anders imagined that he was trying to make some sense of why he was sleeping in the position he was in. Fenris shifted a little, lifting his head and rubbing his eyes.

“I see you’re awake now.”

Fenris froze for a second before jerking away from his ‘pillow’; settling less than a foot away, his back against the desk that served as one of the walls for his nest. Anders blinked and stretched, thankful for the ability to move again. His arm had fallen asleep. He looked somewhat amused, which made the elf bristle.

“Don’t look at me like that. You’re the one that fell asleep on me. I didn’t move because you looked like you needed the rest,” Anders retorted, and uncurled from the floor to stand up. Anders ran a hand through his hair and stretched again, watching Fenris out of the corner of his eye. The elf’s brain was working quickly behind those green eyes, already reminding itself of everything that had happened the evening before.

“Well, you look like you’re feeling better now. You should get a bath, clean up and come downstairs. They made me playact at being the Commander yesterday.” Anders frowned a little.

“I’m sure that was amusing,” Fenris said finally, his throat a little dry and rough.

“Oh it was. I think I terrified them. I’m sure there’s an army sitting in the courtyard now, with torches and scythes and pitchforks all calling for my destruction,” Anders said, smiling wryly and opening the door. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

He left the room, going downstairs and stopping in his own room (they’d given him his old room back again, which was somewhat frightening, but better than being in the barracks) to change clothes and wash his face. Anders stared in the mirror for a moment, thinking about his talk with the elf.

Anders had never really thought about most of the reasons behind Fenris’ mage hatred. He knew that Danarius was a blood mage, and had put those markings on the elf. While Anders had no love for blood mages or slave owners, it had been difficult to reconcile Fenris’ utter loathing of all things magic, especially when he was a walking mage magnet. Anders chuckled to himself and wondered if Fenris had noticed his own trend. From Danarius to Hawke to Anders; one mage after the other. He closed his eyes, still leaning on the water basin in front of the mirror, thinking about the weight of the elf sleeping on his chest. It had been... comfortable; he hadn’t woken up to a weight like that in a long time. Not to mention the lyrium. Even Justice was quiet and placated after an entire night listening to that singing in his ears and tingling at his fingers, despite cloth between them.

A knock at the door brought him out of his thoughts, and he dried his face before opening it. Nathaniel was there, looking somewhat more dour than usual.

“Oh Nathaniel, you have no idea how often I’ve dreamed of this,” Anders said, leaning against the doorframe with a lewd grin. The rogue gave him a Look and gestured for him to follow, starting down the hall toward the Main Hall.

“There’s a... a child,” Nathaniel said as Anders closed the door behind him and followed.

“Nate, have you been shagging the serving girls again? What have I told you about-”

“Anders!” The rogue spun on him and clenched his fists, making a concerted effort not to punch the mage. He took a deep breath and leveled his gaze at the blond. “There is a company of Templars on the North Road. They’re currently on the edge of the arling, and they are burning farms and killing civilians. A little girl rode all the way here from Knotwood Hills with her half-dead older brother to warn us.”

“Where’s the boy?” Anders pushed past Nathaniel, jogging the rest of the way to the Main Hall, not even waiting for the rogue to answer him. The room he came into was a mess. The Seneschal was issuing orders and people were running in and out of the Hall on errands, preparing the castle. His eyes scanned the hall quickly, searching for the little girl and the boy that Nathaniel had mentioned.

“Anders!” Sigrun waved him over. “They’re here!” The mage pushed through the mess of people, kneeling next to the bench they’d laid the boy on when he reached the dwarf. He checked the child over quickly, finding some burns and an arrow wound. Someone had already opened his shirt and removed the shaft. Anders barked some orders at a passerby to get him a cloth and a bowl of water and turned his attention to the burns, healing them each in turn.

“Did you tell him?” Nathaniel asked Sigrun as he finally caught up to the mage. Sigrun blinked at Nathaniel and frowned.

“I thought you were going to tell him,” she said, and bit her lip.

“I didn’t have a chance, he ran in here.”

“Tell me what?” Anders didn’t look up, instead grabbing the cloth from the servant who came back, and dipping it in the water to clean the boy’s shoulder wound. “Nate, move you’re in my light.” Nathaniel moved away quickly, allowing Anders to check for any wood splinters that remained in the child’s shoulder before healing it. Sigrun looked up at Nathaniel and fidgeted a little.

“Well... last night. After you left... We all got together-”

“Who is ‘we all’?”

“The Wardens in the Keep and Seneschal Varel,” Sigrun clarified. She waited a moment as Anders began to glow blue. The boy shifted a little as his shoulder healed and she watched with detached fascination - magic had always been interesting to her. When he was done, Anders leaned against the bench the boy was laying on and ran a hand through his hair.

“He’ll be okay after he gets some sleep,” he said, rubbing his face. The small girl sobbed and threw herself into the mage’s lap, hugging him tightly while she hiccuped her thanks. The mage looked surprised but hugged the little girl back, holding her gently on his lap before looking up at the other two. “Well?”

“We voted.”

“....I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“Probably not,” Nathaniel agreed, his lips twisting ruefully. “They agreed that until further notice... You and I are in command.”

“....What?” Anders just stared at Nathaniel for a moment, blinking. “I... can’t command anything? I quit! I’m-”

“Very good at speaking to people,” Sigrun interrupted. “And at giving direction and orders.”

“No I’m not!” Anders protested, and pulled himself to his feet, still holding the girl, who wrapped her legs around his waist, quite set on not letting go any time soon.

“Yes, you are,” Nathaniel said, shrugging. “I don’t like to admit it, but people listen to you. Even in the middle of this mess,” the rogue gestured to the madness around them, “you still get people to listen to you.”

“...Bloody-” He bit his tongue before he got too colourful, there was a small child wrapped around his neck and she didn’t need to hear the words he wanted to say. “Fine. Fine! Go get Fenris. He was taking a bath and he probably will have better advice on strategy than I would.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Nathaniel assured him with a nod. “We’ve already sent out runners to warn the other farmsteads so the people can get here or to Amaranthine as quickly as possible. We’ve pulled all the soldiers out on patrols back as well. We don’t have a large contingent here, and we’ll probably need to reinforce Amaranthine, depending on where the templars are headed.”

“Did anyone send a runner to Denerim? I doubt the Queen will be happy that the templars have finally lost their fu--nny minds and are burning civilian farmsteads.” Sigrun nodded. “Okay then... um... We should take these two to the nursery.” Nathaniel lifted the boy and followed Anders down the hall. After they installed the boy into a bed and the little girl into a group of mages playing games, Anders stopped in the hall, covering his face with his hands.

“Anders-” Nathaniel began, but stopped short when he was pushed against the wall, Anders gripping the collar of his shirt, the mage’s eyes bright with anger.

“Nathaniel, you remember what they did to me. You remember why I left, what happened. Why... What in the Maker’s name possessed you?” Nathaniel grimaced slightly and looked away.

“Yes, I know when the Commander left and Stroud took over... He didn’t trust you, but we did, Anders. Things never changed with us, and then those templars that joined... and then what happened that night. We thought you were dead, Anders. Stroud was reassigned after that and the Commander requested to come back... None of us were happy with it. Stroud was pretty shitty to Velanna as well, and didn’t bring any new mage blood into the Order. He was an idiot.”

Anders let go of Nathaniel and took a step away. He hadn’t quite been expecting that and wasn’t sure how to respond. The mage ran a hand through his hair and turned away.

“C’mon, we’ve got Templars to deal with,” he mumbled. Nathaniel smiled a little and followed Anders back in toward the mess that was the Main Hall.


	14. Part Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Creator, quid me tentatis = Maker, why do you tempt me?
> 
> Subsisto! Phasellus porta te dementia! = Stop! You will drive yourself to madness!

Fenris stood on the battlements, watching the preparations below with interest. The gates were going to be closed for the night soon, but there were still peasants streaming inside. The guards were checking them all as best they could, hoping that no templars were hiding among them. Anyone older than sixteen that could carry a weapon were being given armour, a sword, and a bow. From here, Fenris could see Nathaniel training a handful of people at the side. Showing them how to hold their bows and fire arrows before shooing them off and training another handful of farmers. Most of the older people were fairly comfortable with the weapons they were handed, Fenris observed, though he supposed after living through the rebellion against Orlais, and then a Blight, most of them were probably somewhat trained already.

The Wardens were preparing as best they could. A small contingent of soldiers had been sent off to compliment the guards in Amaranthine in case the templars turned north. Fenris noticed Velanna on the battlements above the gates, a handful of robed teenagers with her. She was apparently training the Harrowed mages on the finer points of shooting fireballs at moving targets. That made him raise his eyebrow slightly, he was surprised Anders wasn’t doing it. While he thought about it, he realised Anders was nowhere to be seen below. This realisation made Fenris frown and straighten, looking down at the crowds more earnestly. Anders wouldn’t have left, would he?

“Here you are.”

Fenris closed his eyes for a moment, relieved to hear the mage’s voice. He pursed his lips together, however, before turning around to face said mage.

“What do you want?”

“Oh, I came up here to hide. I was supposed to find you as well, so that’s a bonus, but really I’m just hiding,” Anders said. The mage moved forward and leaned over the crenel to see what Fenris had been staring at. “Hey, there’s Nathaniel. Do you think if I spit, I can hit him?”

“Why were you looking for me?” Fenris crossed his arms and turned his back on the courtyard.

“You don’t have to stay, you know.” Fenris’ gazed whipped around, focusing on the mage for a moment, not even sure he’d heard him correctly. Anders was still looking over the crenel, gazing at the villagers and soldiers below him, the wind snapping his long hair around his face. The elf caught his breath, staring. He had looked at Anders many times in their years together, but he now realised he had never really _seen_. The mage had an angular face. It wasn’t a beautiful face; his nose was too long and his jaw was narrow, but he had high cheekbones that gave a delicacy to his features that made him very handsome to look at. His facial hair wasn’t bushy or heavy, the way Hawke’s was. It seemed fine, like his hair, a dirty blond colour with streaks of copper and grey. Fenris briefly wondered if it tickled when Anders kissed someone.

“Are you okay?” Fenris blinked and felt the heat rush to his face as he realised Anders was looking at him and that he had been staring.

“I’m fine!” He made an annoyed sound and turned his head away, looking out toward the courtyard again. “And why would I leave anyway? Where would I go?” It was Anders’ turn to blush now. He stood up straight, shrugging and moving toward the door to the stairs.

“Anywhere you want. You’re a free man.”

“Anders.”

“Hm?” The mage glanced back at him over a shoulder.

“Why were you looking for me?”

“Oh. To get you to come to the Commander’s office. We’d like your combat expertise present while everyone attempts to make me look like a leader. Or an idiot. Probably both, as those things aren’t necessarily exclusive of each other.”

“Very well.” Fenris nodded to the mage and watched him disappear down the stairway before letting out an explosive breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

“ _Creator, quid me tentatis?_ ”

He turned away from the stairs, taking a few quick steps before turning around and coming back again. Fenris’ blush had already begun to creep further up his face and ears as he remembered the mage’s long, gentle, callused fingers touching his wrists, his back, his chest. Fenris could not remember having ever been touched like that in his life, by anyone. Perhaps Danarius, once... no, Danarius had never touched him like that, with purely innocent intentions. The memory of those fingers didn’t bother him. Not the way Gerald’s had. The young templar had made him feel disgusting and dirty. He had wanted to scour all the skin from his body just to rid himself of any fingerprints the templar had left on him. He used to bathe like that whenever Danarius... Fenris flinched, not wanting to think of the other mage.

“ _Subsisto! Phasellus porta te dementia!_ ”

“...Pardon, ser?”

Fenris paused, looking up in surprise to see a guardsman standing a few steps away, looking very confused. He felt his stomach flip as he realised he’d been berating himself aloud. He hesitated a second before dashing down the stairs, feeling acutely embarrassed that anyone had seen him so flustered. Maker, he hated the mage, didn’t he?

...Didn’t he?


	15. Part Fourteen

“We don’t have room for all of these people, if the templars-”

“What would you have us do? Leave them to be murdered for no-”

“I didn’t say-”

“What about Amaranthi-”

“We could send for-”

Anders put his hands over his ears and closed his eyes tightly. They had gathered in the room a few at a time, as they were able to leave their current duty, and the arguing had begun almost immediately. He was settled on a low chair, a little to the side, content to wait until everyone had arrived before trying to speak. Instead, he was surrounded by people all standing and trying to talk over each other. Even Sigrun and one of the newer, dwarven wardens were standing on chairs to try and make themselves heard. Hawke and the Commander had always made it look so easy. What he wouldn’t give for either one of them to walk through that door and take over and fix everything.

Almost as if in reply to his silent plea, the door opened and Anders looked up. He took a sharp breath, that he released slowly when he saw it was Fenris, who was looking particularly prickly, even without his armour. Here he was, the weak mage that Fenris had always accused him of being, sitting here letting everyone argue around him, hoping someone would make a decision for him. He could feel defiance bloom in his chest; a warm feeling that spread through his limbs. Fenris, he could argue with. Fenris he could fight with. Fenris he would not back down from, or allow himself to look weak in front of. Anders stood up.

“But we need-”

“We can’t afford-”

“Will you-”

“ _Shut. Up._ ”

The room fell silent at the authoritative clip in the voice that had spoken. The few people who had been standing near the chair Anders had settled into took a step back, letting Anders move up to the table and survey the room. The mage’s eyes briefly locked onto Fenris’ green gaze before turning to the Seneschal.

“Let’s not be stupid about this. Seneschal, what is the current situation in regards to the castle resources?” The older man hesitated a moment, glancing around the room. Anders noticed out of the corner of his gaze that Nathaniel nodded to Varel before he spoke.

“The castle has a compliment of twenty archers, fifty foot soldiers, and thirty assorted servants, cooks, footmen. There are only twenty wardens currently, as the mages were recalled to Weisshaupt and others are on their own missions.”

“So roughly seventy trained, armoured warriors?”

“Fifty, as twenty were sent to Amaranthine to boost the city’s defenses,” Varel corrected. Anders looked over at Nathaniel.

“Peasants?”

“Roughly a hundred have come through the gates today, the city has the main population of the arling, and the templars appear to be sticking to the farms near the road, so many farmers are mostly safe by virtue of their distance from the main road,” Nathaniel replied. “About two-thirds of them are hearty enough to carry a weapon, the rest are children or infirm. They’ve mostly all showed an interest in helping defend the Keep...”

“But?” Anders raised his eyebrow. Nathaniel winced and glanced around the room quickly before licking his lips.

“Many are of the opinion that the mages should be handed over,” he replied quietly. Anders was silent for a moment and closed his eyes, almost visibly fighting to keep Justice contained. He let out a slow breath and then nodded, opening his eyes again.

“Anyone who feels that way does not have to fight. They can stay in the Keep with the children and infirm. There is no need for them to fight against templars if they are afraid,” he replied, surprised at his own ability to keep his voice level. “How are our supplies?”

“Adequate,” Varel replied. “If we need more, the underground passage to Amaranthine is still open, so a siege would not be unbearable.” Anders frowned slightly and looked down at the table where a handful of maps were. He blinked at it suddenly and pointed to the map.

“Isn’t that where the Deep Roads cave in was? Where we met Sigrun?” Nathaniel moved over, craning his neck and then nodded.

“Yes, it’s still open, but the locals know to give it a wide berth.”

“Are any of the tunnels below the Keep connected to that part of the road?” Sigrun leaned over and shook her head.

“No, but here,” she pointed to another place, north of the road. ”There’s an entrance to the Deep Roads here that is connected to the Keep.”

“How long would it take to get from here to there?” Nathaniel grinned, already seeing what Anders was suggesting.

“Two days.”

“The templars will be here by midday tomorrow,” Varel reminded them.

“The gates would be firmly closed by that time,” Fenris’ deep voice pointed out as the elf moved closer to the table and the maps. The other Wardens and senior soldiers were murmuring their agreement. “With the young mages, and your surplus in archers, you should have no trouble keeping them at bay for some time.”

“This place has withstood Darkspawn Hordes, I think it can handle two-hundred templars,” Anders said dryly. “I say, we start moving the children, infirm, and those that do not wish to fight through the underground tunnel to Amaranthine. Get them to the city were there is more room and supplies.”

“Then we can use the Deep Roads to come up behind the templars and attack their flank,” Fenris said.

“But there are only fifty trained soldiers in the castle,” Varel said, obviously becoming frustrated. Anders made an annoyed noise and brought his fingers to his lips, chewing his nails while he thought.

“How did they get so many damn templars together so quickly?” he murmured. He wanted to pace, to think, but there were too many people, and they were all looking at him for guidance. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

 _Dear Maker,_

 _Why me?_

 _Please wave your hands and make it all fixed._

 _Anders_

“It is conceivable that they will split their forces. Not to mention how many they will lose to archers and magic,” Fenris said. Anders opened his eyes and stared at Fenris for a moment. He could _kiss_ the elf.

“So we send a message to Amaranthine,” Anders said, beginning to look excited. “Tell them to watch the templars on their doorstep. If the templars turn around to try and help at the Keep, they come out of the city and attack. Otherwise we can take the templars from behind with a small force, maybe thirty men?” The mage looked to Nathaniel for help. Tactics were not his strong point; escaping, running away, blowing up Chantries, making deals with spirit friends, and healing people he was good at.

“Yes, thirty men, a mix of foot soldiers and wardens probably would be best,” the dark-haired archer replied with a nod. “Two days underground, another day to come up behind the templars. If we’re careful they could be taken completely by surprise. If they’re split between here and Amaranthine, all the better. If we can free the Keep, then more soldiers and villagers can join up and take on the group in Amaranthine. We could possibly break this within a week. The Queen would be here in time to clean up any mess that’s left. If she’s fast, she could help us demolish them.”

“You are sure she would assist?” Fenris asked, furrowing his brow. “She would not assist the templars?”

“Queen Anora has a duty to protect her subjects. The templars are burning farms and attacking farmers and merchants. She would be an idiot to side with the templars,” Nathaniel said, shaking his head. Anders watched Fenris open his mouth to say something else, but he seemed to think better of it and closed his mouth again. He had a troubled look on his face.

“Okay people, it’s clear. Nathaniel, you and the Seneschal go through the soldiers to find out who isn’t afraid of small, dark spaces with possible monsters in corners. Velanna, you go back to the mages and help them prepare more. Sigrun and Oghren you go make it known that anyone that doesn’t want to protect the Keep can use the passages to go to Amaranthine, also get the children and infirm moving that way as well. Let the Captain of the Guard over in the city know the plan.” He looked around the room and sighed. “I’ll need volunteers for the group going into the Deep Roads, the rest of you go prepare, pray to the Maker, train peasants, or what have you. Send any wounded or ill people up here to me and I’ll take a look at them.”

With that, Anders dropped into the chair again, dismissing them with a wave of his hand. The group slowly filed out of the room, all of them murmuring betwixt themselves about the plan and what they thought of it.

“They all listen to you.”

Anders looked up and saw Fenris leaning against the pillar closest to him. The mage felt his shoulders droop a little and he sighed. He was not in a mood to spar with the elf. He’d just expended most of his energy on keeping himself from running from the room screaming like a little girl.

“It is a good plan.”

He blinked at the elf, his brain taking a moment to process the compliment.

“Are you okay?” he asked finally, tilting his head at the elf and giving him a curious look. Fenris frowned and looked at him, obviously confused. “You just complimented a plan I came up with. Obviously you must be ill or dying or possibly addled. Do I need to check you over, make sure you’re not damaged anywhere? You didn’t hit your head somewhere did you?”

Fenris pursed his lips as his eyes rolled to the side, understanding the sarcasm now.

“Do not let it go to your head, mage.”

“I promise I won’t. I’ll just keep it under my pillow and bring it out at night to look at before I go to sleep. Just to remind myself that I’m not _completely_ stupid all the time,” Anders retorted with a half smile. Maker, he was exhausted. He stood up and stretched a little. “I should go to the infirmary and pick up medical supplies before the villagers start crowding in here.” Anders brushed past the elf, wavering a little as the lyrium song rang in his ears at the brief contact.

 **Distraction.**

“Anders? You stay here, get some rest. I will send someone from the infirmary with a bag for you,” Fenris said, concern thick in his voice. The mage sighed and ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head.

“No, I need some air. It’ll do me some good.”

“...Very well. I...”

Anders turned and raised his eyebrows. “Hm?”

“I want to volunteer to go with the men into the Deep Roads.”

“I had a feeling you’d want to go,” Anders replied with a half smile. “Being stuck behind a wall during a siege doesn’t seem your piece of pie. Don’t worry, we’ll leave you a spot. You can have mine, I hate the Deep Roads.” The mage grinned a little, though it didn’t reach his eyes, before he turned away again, going to make his own preparations.


	16. Part Fifteen

“Nathaniel, you’re more use if you stay here.”

“Don’t be daft, you and Oghren may be the oldest, but you know I always had the best ears down there,” the archer said, crossing his arms. They were already in the basements beneath the Keep. Oghren at the head, leading the first group into the dark to make sure nothing had gotten through the gates. Anders had not wanted to go. Fenris had been asked to convince him, that as the best healer in the Keep it only made sense that he would be with the soldiers that would be getting the most damage, especially those that might get attacked by Darkspawn.

“But who will-”

“Varel is perfectly capable of keeping things under control with Sigrun and Velanna helping.” Anders pursed his lips, his nose twitching slightly in annoyance before just making a derisive sound and turning away from the archer. Nathaniel would do what he wanted anyway.

“It is good to have you along,” Fenris said to the warden in a low tone, his lips quirking slightly.

“You as well. Have you ever been in the Deep Roads?” Nathaniel watched Anders move along the line of men ahead of them, stopping occasionally to answer questions and to offer jokes to the more nervous men.

“Just the one time, when Hawke and Anders went looking for you on behalf of your sister,” Fenris replied with a small shrug.

“That’s right,” Nathaniel nodded, his face lighting a little with the memory.

“Nate!” Fenris and Nathaniel turn toward the sound and see Sigrun scuttling down the stairs toward the cave ladder and them. They wait for her to catch her breath, looking curious and expectant.

“The templars are within sight. They sent a rider ahead to the gate asking to speak with the Warden Commander.” Fenris watched Nathaniel’s brow knit and he glanced back toward Anders. Fenris followed the archer’s gaze and frowned slightly. The mage was doing his best to keep the men’s morale up. It was obvious most of the foot soldiers were terrified of the Deep Roads, but the last group was making its way down the rickety wood stairs and Anders had stopped a moment. He was leaning against the stone, his eyes closed. The look was familiar to the elf; it was how he would look after a busy day in the Darktown clinic.

“I can go talk to them, you two go on, I’ll catch up,” Nathaniel said to Fenris.

“Talk to who?” Anders had moved away from the wall and turned his head toward them with a curious expression.

“The templars have sent a messanger,” Sigrun told him. “He wants to speak to the Commander.”

“I can talk to him, Anders, don’t worry about it,” Nathaniel said, stepping between Sigrun and the mage.

“I thought you were in charge of tactics and I was in charge of politics?” Anders replied, the corner of his mouth twitching a little as he stepped around the archer. “I don’t want to go down there, so this will give me an excuse to put it off as long as I can. You go down and help the men, I’ll catch up.”

“I’ll stay with you,” Fenris told Anders, taking a few steps after the mage. Nathaniel grimaced but nodded his acceptance.

“Fine, but don’t take too long, the two of you alone behind us will be a perfect target for anything down there,” Nathaniel warned. He pat Sigrun on the shoulder briefly and smiled before turning to catch up with the last handful of soldiers that had gone down a few minutes before. Fenris and Sigrun shared an apprehensive look between them as they followed Anders up into the courtyard.

“Does he have a white flag?” Anders asked Sigrun as she and Fenris stepped into the dying light.

“No,” Sigrun replied, shaking her head.

“So we’ll talk from the battlements. Hurl insults at each other, and then he’ll go away?”

“Basically,” she replied with a small smile. Anders shrugged.

“Lead the way.”

Fenris walked behind them both, keeping an eye on the mage. Most of the day had been spent collecting volunteers to go into the Deep Roads, then outfitting them and preparing them. In between recruiting volunteers, Anders had also been trying to help the peasants that had been hurt during their flight from the templars. He hadn’t had much time to rest or eat. Fenris had brought him something at one point, but the elf was fairly certain that the mage had given it away or forgotten about it. He sighed and shook his head as they mounted the stairs that led to the battlements above the gate.

“Anders,” Fenris said suddenly, stopping at the top of the stairs.

“Hm?”

“Give me your staff. They do not know you are a mage, and it would be best to keep it that way, yes?”

“Oh... Yes, you’re probably right.” Anders handed the staff over to Fenris, who laid it down near the stairs where they could pick it up again on their way back. Sigrun led them along the battlement to a spot that she gestured for Anders to look through.

Fenris peered through one of the crenels, seeing the dust in the distance that told of the templars moving this way. He looked around the area in front of the Keep. There were lots of trees. He wasn’t sure that they would have much space to camp. That was good, they’d be able to sneak up on them easily, possibly take them out a few at a time. However it did mean that the mages and archers in the Keep would have problems cutting their numbers while they marched to get behind the templars.

“Okay, what do you want?” Anders called down to a templar who was sitting on his horse on the road outside the gate.

“I’ve requested to speak with the Warden Commander!” the man called up.

“I’m the... Commander,” Anders called back down. “Sort of,” he added under his breath with a wry smile at Sigrun.

“Where is Commander Tabris?” the templar called.

“She is no longer in Ferelden, I am in charge here currently.”

“Very well. Knight-Commander Gerald offers the Wardens amnesty, under the condition that all mages in the Keep are turned over to our custody!”

Anders laughed. Loudly. He laughed, and laughed. For a moment, Fenris was afraid that he might harm himself, his face was red and he was gasping for breath. Fenris moved over to the mage, who slid down the side of the stone wall, leaning against it as he laughed. Sigrun was trying to keep a straight face from what Fenris could tell, but he was not sure what exactly was so funny. Perhaps the mage had finally lost what was left of his sanity.

“Anders?” Fenris knelt next to him, frowning. As Anders’ laughing began to dissipate he took long, heaving breathes and grinned at the elf.

“Anders, are you okay?” Fenris repeated, still sounding a little worried.

“I’m fine. Really,” he said, still catching his breath. Anders reached up and patted Fenris’ cheek fondly before pulling himself up again. He took another deep breath, trying to straighten his features before leaning over the crenel to address the templar below again.

“Please, let your Knight-Commander know that the Wardens are not idiots, despite what he seems to hope. As much as he apparently expects the Chantry to shield him from the lunacy he has started by attacking and killing Grey Wardens, kidnapping members of the Keep, on top of burning and pillaging farms and homesteads through the arling of Amaranthine; we have no fear of him and he is welcome to sit outside the gate until the Maker himself opens the door.”

With that, the mage turned away from the crenel, snickered softly to himself and walked away. Sigrun and Fenris glanced at each other before the dwarf shrugged and followed Anders down the stairs. Fenris pursed his lips and glanced over the battlement again, watching as the templar turned his horse around and rode back toward the cloud of dust with haste. He sighed and followed after Anders, picking up the mage’s staff on his way.


	17. Part Sixteen

Nathaniel paced. His movements were bordering on frantic, and he had brushed aside all attempts to calm him. They had reached the first place that had been marked out for camp. It had been ten hours already and no sign of Anders or Fenris. They should have caught up well before they’d even made it to the dwarven outpost and the Gate. Now they were well into the Deep Roads and the Gate had been closed behind them. There had been a few small skirmishes when they’d passed that point, some Deepstalkers, the odd Genlock and Hurlock, but nothing major. Which he certainly wanted it to stay that way. No use cutting through the Deep Roads only to lose half of the men before they even got to the templars. So far no one was hurt, there had been some scratches and bumps, but Gairyth had taken care of them easily. The young mage was nervous about anything worse than that, though. He was not a spirit healer.

“Nate!” Oghren had wandered back toward the place that the archer had been standing vigil. He belched loudly and Nathaniel closed his eyes as he waited for the noise and smell to disperse.

“What is it Oghren?”

“You still waiting on Sparklefingers and his boyfriend?” The dwarf chuckled to himself. “Boyfriend.”

“I am still watching for Anders and Fenris, yes. They were supposed to catch up with us.” Nathaniel took a deep breath, and somewhat regretted it, though the dwarf didn’t smell much worse than the Deep Roads anyway. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Hey, you feel that?” Oghren was looking sharply into the darkness, his hand on his axe. That was one good thing about him, Nathaniel supposed. He got the job done.

“What?” He could feel a lot of things. Most of them were below them and to the south, which was good since they were going northwest.

“Just one...”

“Emissary, I can feel the magic,” Nathaniel said, straightening. His eyes narrowed in concentration and he notched an arrow waiting for it to come into the edge of the firelight where he could see better.

“Don’t shoot you gits, it’s me,” a voice called from the dark.

“Anders?”

“No, it’s the Queen of bloody Antiva, move!” The mage came into the light. Fenris was leaning on him heavily, limping.

“Maker’s breath, what happened? You should have caught up hours ago!” the rogue said, following Anders toward the fire where he gently set Fenris down. “Is he okay?”

“Yes, he’ll be fine. We had a good taunting match with the templar at the gate and then Varel needed to speak to me about some last minute things, and I got sidetracked by a handful of villagers that wanted to help us now because I had healed them and they weren’t scared of protecting mages anymore. By the time we finally got down into the caves we were hours behind you. We tried to catch up as quickly as we could, but when we got past the gate...” Anders’ hands were moving quickly over Fenris’ leg, checking to make sure it wasn’t broken before finally letting the healing magic flow through his fingers. The elf hissed, his fingers digging into the dirt and rock underneath him and he bit his lip.

“All done, and I know it didn’t hurt that much, so stop overdramatising,” the mage retorted, his hands already moving to check over other parts of the elf. Fenris batted Anders’ hands away and scooted so his back was against a rock.

“I’m fine! Stop touching me, mage!”

“Are you sure? I thought that hurlock nicked you?” Anders moved forward again, looking as if he was going to start pawing at the warrior again.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Fenris snarled, pulling his knees up to his chest. Anders sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“Very well.” He looked up at Nathaniel, “Anyway, we got attacked on the way here, just outside the gate. Just a small group, only four of them. Fenris got his foot caught and twisted it when one of them attacked. I thought he got hit too, but I guess not.”

“I’m glad you’re both okay. I was tempted to go back and look for you,” Nathaniel said, putting his arrow away and relaxing. Oghren made a noise and coughed.

“He was all ready to run out there and scour the Deep Roads lookin’ for you and your boyfriend,” the dwarf said with a bit of a leer and a lewd laugh. Nathaniel pushed the dwarf toward the soldiers.

“Go check on them, it’s your watch.”

“Oh fine. You’re no fun, Howe.”

Nathaniel relaxed as the dwarf wandered away. He’d seen Fenris fluff up, like an annoyed cat, the moment Oghren had insinuated he and Anders were ‘boyfriends’, and figured it was for the best if Oghren went away before Fenris hurt him.

“Are you okay?” Nathaniel asked Anders, sitting down between him and the elf.

“I’m fine. Just a few bumps. Nothing to worry about,” Anders replied, rubbing his hands in front of the fire. “How long are we resting for? This is the first camp right?”

“Still a few more hours, we’ve been here for at least three already. Letting the men get some sleep and food. You should sleep too,” the archer suggested. The mage glanced up at the roof of the cave they were in, some ten feet above and shuddered delicately.

“No, I’ll be alright. I’ll... go get something to eat, maybe hang around with Oghren,” he said, standing up and with only a brief glance at Fenris, walking away. Nathaniel sighed as the mage walked off and glanced over at Fenris, who seemed to relax a little.

“How are you doing?” Nathaniel asked the elf softly. “I was glad to see you at the briefing earlier...” Fenris glanced up at the archer and then looked away again, a slight blush creeping up his cheeks.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, shifting against the rock behind him. He winced a little and then looked back toward the other fires in the cavern. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Hm? Anders? He never slept in the Deep Roads,” Nathaniel replied with a shrug. The dark-haired man picked up a stick and poked at the fire a little, bored.

“Why is that?” Nathaniel looked up at Fenris and gazed at him blankly for a moment. He wasn’t sure how much the elf knew about being a Grey Warden, but he supposed it wouldn’t hurt to tell him.

“Anders and Velanna are the most sensitive of us. I’m very sensitive, I can usually feel things further away than anyone else, but... Anders can pinpoint what everything is. He can... he can almost get inside their heads a little. Velanna is the same, it’s probably something to do with being a mage.”

“So?” Fenris narrowed his eyes a little and Nathaniel saw his nose wrinkle in what the archer had come to realise was a sign of the elf being annoyed.

“So, it means he... dreams of darkspawn,” Nathaniel said cautiously.

“He does that anyway,” Fenris replied, pulling his knees closer and wincing slightly.

“It...” Nathaniel sighed. “It’s not something that is easily explained. We can... tap into the Darkspawn... mind, I guess. They’re all connected through the Taint and we can hear what they hear and see what they see if we try hard enough. Especially when we dream. So we dream of Darkspawn, all of us do at some point, for some it’s worse than others. The Commander had horrific nightmares, but she Joined during a Blight and it’s supposed to be worse for those that do... Anyway, they’re worse down here, the closer you are. Anders... he gets them the worst. So he won’t sleep while we’re here,” Nathaniel said, and smiled wryly at Fenris. The elf frowned and looked off in the direction the mage had gone again.

“He has not rested for a while. He will be no good to anyone if he collapses...”

“He’s done it before. I’ve seen him go a week underground with less than an hour of sleep. He’ll do it. There isn’t any point in trying to force him to rest anyway,” Nathaniel shrugged.

“I’ll get you a blanket and some food and you should get some rest, okay?” The archer stood up and stretched.

“Hey...” Nathaniel leaned over, causing Fenris to hit his head on the stone behind him and grimace. “You scuffed your face too. On your cheek.”

Fenris raised a hand to his face and winced slightly as he touched the raw, red skin. It wasn’t bleeding anymore, but it looked painful. Nathaniel glanced down the elf’s side and pointed to another spot.

“You scraped your arm too, and there’s some blood on the back of your shirt,” Nathaniel said, frowning at Fenris. “Maker, that’s a lot of blood.”

He pulled the elf away from the stone, ignoring the sharp noise Fenris made. The elf’s back was wet with blood, it had soaked through the side of his armor.

“Bloody hell Fenris! Why didn’t you let Anders look at this?” The archer swore under his breath and pulled away, intent on going to get Anders to come heal him, but Fenris caught his wrist.

“Just give me bandages and help me wrap it up, Nathaniel,” the elf said, his voice was soft, almost timid. “Please.”

“Tell me why first.”

“...He’s exhausted, Nathaniel. He used up the last of his energy just getting us here. I’m surprised he managed to heal my ankle. He needs to rest. It’s fine, just wrap it up. I’ve fought with worse,” Fenris said, his hair in his eyes as he looked at the ground. Nathaniel sighed and pulled out of Fenris’ grip.

“Fine, I’ll be back with bandages and food. Just don’t... move.”

Fenris leaned his head back against the rock as Nathaniel walked off to find supplies and closed his eyes with a slight smile.


	18. Part Seventeen

It was evening and they were resting on the surface, just outside of the Deep Roads entrance. There had been no more mishaps, and the darkspawn seemed to be avoiding them after they broke camp underground. Now they just needed to wait until after dusk so they could sneak up on the templars. It was infinitely easier to attack them from behind in the dark then give them the chance to be spotted. Anders had managed to get a few hours sleep when they reached the surface again, relieved to be out of the the Void-forsaken Deep Roads. Fenris had been avoiding him a little since they’d caught up with the rest of the group, but he wasn’t too worried. He assumed it was because the elf was still embarrassed at having fallen asleep on him after baring his fears to the mage. He was content to give the elf his distance for the moment.

Anders ran a hand through his hair and sighed, squinting through the trees and down the road. He could hear the templars ahead. They weren’t too far away, and their armour and horses made enough noise to wake the dead. He leaned against a tree, listening to the men quietly bantering behind him. There were no fires, so some were eating a cold dinner while the others rested up before the coming battle.

A flash of white and black to his left caught his attention. He turned his head and saw Fenris and Nathaniel coming through the brush after doing some scouting. Anders frowned slightly, Fenris was favouring one side still. He had healed that ankle, and then had healed the scrapes on the elf’s face and arm when he’d seen them the next day. He was very close to Nathaniel and the archer leaned down a little to say something to him. Anders felt an irrational surge of annoyance in his stomach and turned his head away. It didn’t matter to him who Fenris was friends with. It was good if he made friends, right? Meant he wouldn’t be following the mage like a lost kitten anymore. Anders could leave and not fear being hunted down and soundly kicked in the backside for leaving the elf anywhere. He could turn those stupid green puppy eyes on someone else.

“Anders,” Nathaniel waved a hand in front of the mage’s face, startling him out of his thoughts.

“What?” he snapped, glaring at the archer, who raised an eyebrow at him.

“I think we’re ready to move. They’re settling down for the night over there. Fenris and I counted roughly eight-five to ninety men, I think the archers and mages picked off a few of them, but they’re keeping to the trees to avoid the arrows and spells,” Nathaniel reported, crossing his arms.

“Then go do your killing thingie,” Anders replied, irritated. He waved his hand, dismissing Nathaniel, who stood there for a moment longer. “What? You have your orders, go kill templars.”

Nathaniel pursed his lips and looked as if he wanted to say something, but decided against it, turning around and barking orders to the soldiers instead.

Twenty minutes later they were creeping through the trees. The fires were spotted all over, the templars apparently not worried about an attack from behind. It was almost too easy at first, the scouts moving stealthily into each camp and quickly slitting throats. None of them were even scratched in the first ten minutes of the battle. It was only when one of the templar guards stumbled upon a scout in the act of killing another templar that it became a real battle.

Soon Anders was commandeering one of the cleared campsites and barking orders to Gairyth while wounded were being brought in to them. Anders had been in battles. Skirmishes really. Five or six Grey Wardens against a handful of darkspawn; Hawke’s band of fighters versus templars and monsters. Even when the Qunari tried to take Kirkwall and when Meredith lost her mind, it wasn’t like this. Kirkwall was close quarters, people fighting in corners, avoiding civilians. Usually there were five or six of you against five or six of them.

This was a bloody mess, was what it was. Anders couldn’t let himself stop to think about it. Couldn’t think about the thirty men he’d travelled here with that were up against seventy-odd templars. He focused on healing anyone that was put in front of him, teaching Gairyth how to mend bones in a hurry; how to close mortal wounds, hand them a healing potion and move onto the next. He showed the young mage how to pace himself, how minor wounds could be treated with needle and string and healing potions and bandages, and to save his mana for the really nasty stuff.

“The gates are opening!” Anders heard someone yell. He sighed a little in relief that the soldiers in the Keep were coming out to help now that the battle had begun. It was a brief pause before he was pushing hair out of his face with blood-stained hands and diving back into someone’s intestines to keep them from dying on the tree stump he had claimed as his makeshift operating table.

The fighting was over within an hour, but the healing continued. A few of the young mages that had been inside the Keep with Velanna had joined them and were putting their minimal healing knowledge to as much use as they could.

 _Stomach wound. Head wound. Broken bone. Head wound. Dead. Dead. Shoulder wound. Leg wound. Stomach wound. Back wound. Dead. Head wound. Dead. Broken bone. Chest wound. Head wound. Chest wound._

The faces of the wounded were starting to blur together and Anders soon found himself being led to a log to sit down.

“No I...” Anders began, trying to stand up again and swaying a little.

“Anders, they’ll be all right. You need to rest or you’ll pass out.”

The mage allowed himself be pulled down again and turned his head blearily to stare at Nathaniel. The archer’s face was bleeding, a nasty gash across his nose and another on his cheek.

“Let me...” Anders reached for Nathaniel’s face, but the dark-haired man caught the mage’s hands gently and set them into Anders’ lap.

“I’m fine, they’re just scratches. You need to rest, Anders. You were running on only a few hours sleep as it was and you’ve tapped all your resources. Velanna is helping them, they’ll take care of it,” Nathaniel said, his voice was gentle. The blond looked as if he was planning on arguing, but Nathaniel held the mage in his seat with a firm (but gentle) grip.

“...Mkay,” Anders finally conceded. He watched the wounded being brought in for a minute before looking around further. There were some burnt and frozen trees dotting the landscape between the camp and the Keep, and a lot of bodies.

“...How many did we lose?” he asked after a moment.

“About fifty to sixty templars were killed or wounded. We lost twenty soldiers, no archers, no mages, and roughly thirty of the armed peasants. Another thirty peasants, give or take, are wounded, probably ten soldiers, and four Wardens,” Nathaniel said. Anders winced slightly at the numbers and swallowed.

“Is... that... I... I’m not cut out to lead men into battle,” he said, trying to swallow. His mouth was suddenly dry and his stomach churning. Fifty people had died. More were wounded or dying. There were still another hundred templars outside of Amaranthine. He was a healer, not a warrior.

Anders turned around and retched. He felt someone put an arm around him and hold his hair, though not much really came up. He hadn’t eaten a whole lot in the past few days. When his stomach finally decided it couldn’t cough up anymore bile he felt a waterskin being pressed into his hands and he drank, desperate to get rid of the taste in his mouth.

“You did pretty well, Anders,” Nathaniel told him in a soothing voice. The mage turned back toward the wounded, but had his eyes tightly closed as he tried to even his breathing and to stop shaking.

“What... What about the other templars?” he said finally, coughing a little and taking another drink from the skin.

“Fled or captured.” Nathaniel grinned wickedly. “We captured the Knight-Commander though.”

“Good.”

 **Fenris.**

“Fenris!” Anders stood up a little too quickly and swayed again before Nathaniel caught him. “Where’s Fenris?”

“He was with Oghren, keeping an eye on the prisoners while they were rounded up and taken to the Keep to put in the dungeon,” Nathaniel told him, putting hands on the mage’s shoulders again to keep him from falling over.

“I think you can take him back to the Keep. We’ve got things under control here. It’s just cuts and scratches, bumps and bruises now. Honestly, you’d think that humans were children, crying about their cuts,” Velanna said, walking over to the two men. Nathaniel nodded and put an arm around Anders’ waist, leading him past the wounded who were still waiting; then past the dead who were being sorted by Seneschal Varel and Sigrun.

Anders only realised they’d made it into the Keep when they started going up the stairs to the Main Hall. Coming down to meet them was Oghren.

“Hey! Your elf friend! They took him to the... that thing. The place where all the healers hide, and they have the potions and stuff,” Oghren said, looking a little uneasy. “I was coming to find you.”

“What?” Anders looked up at the dwarf. “What happened?”

“We got all the prisoners into the dungeon and everything and he came back out into the courtyard mumbling something about his head and he fell over. Looked like the grave, lemme tell ya. White as baby nug.” Adrenaline was already starting to pump through Anders, making him more alert as he pushed away from Nathaniel and began to jog up the stairs.

He ignored the calls behind him, people yelling his name as he pushed into the Main Hall and ran through. Not even the cheers of the Wardens and soldiers in the hall stopped him as he pushed the door to the hall open with a loud bang. When he reached the infirmary, Anders tripped through the door, careening into a servant who was carrying Fenris’ armour and sword.

“Sorry!” the servant exclaimed, but Anders ignored them, pawing at the armour and finding a bloodstained shirt among the items. He pushed the cloth back into the servant’s hands and stepped past him, moving to the side of the unconscious elf that they’d settled into a cot.

“Fenris?” Anders frowned and looked the elf over carefully. His skin was very pale and he had dark circles around his eyes, almost like bruises. He was warm with fever. Anders touched the bandages around Fenris’ torso, trying to figure out where he was wounded.

“His back,” Nathaniel said, coming into the room. “He didn’t want to worry you.”

“What?” Anders turned on the rogue, amber eyes flaring blue for a moment. “He was wounded? Before the battle? And you didn’t _tell_ me?”

Nathaniel winced and stayed back. Anders could see the regret on the archer’s face and he took a deep breath, turning to the elf again. He’d deal with Nathaniel later. The mage carefully moved Fenris onto his side so he could see the elf’s back. The bandages were soaked through with blood, so he pulled a dagger from his boot and set to cutting them off carefully. When the wound was revealed Anders took a sharp breath.

It was small, no wider than his own dagger, and not even very deep, but it was purple and the bruising almost seemed to expand around the wound. There were splotches of the colour across the elf’s back and he could see more purple peeking out of the waist of Fenris’ breeches on his hip. Anders put his hand out to Nathaniel, not turning away from the wound as he studied it.

“Lyrium potion. On the shelf. Give me one,” he said. His voice had that ring of command in it that Nathaniel had heard whenever the mage was focused on something, usually healing. He pulled a vial off of the shelf and uncorked it, setting it into Anders’ hand. Anders chugged it down quickly, making a slight face as he did so before focusing on closing the wound. When it was done, he tried to move onto the bruises, but they wouldn’t go away. Anders couldn’t find any real damage under the skin to cause them and he finally stopped trying. He studied them for a moment, noting that the colouring was only on the skin between the lyrium marks. A groan and a cough forced Anders to settle Fenris onto his back again. He leaned over the elf, worry apparent in his expression.

“Fenris?” The elf opened his eyes and groaned, blinking in the torchlight. Anders could see the tell-tale grey clouding Fenris’ green gaze. An irrational anger flared up in him and he hit the edge of the cot with his fist, startling the white-haired elf.

“You stupid, brainless, irresponsible, senseless, _cretinous, half-witted MORON!!_ ” Anders’ voice steadily rose with each insult, pratically shouting the last word at Fenris. “Why didn’t you tell me about that wound!? You... ARGH!” Anders stood up, taking a few paces away from the cot and then back again. He ran his fingers through his hair, gripping and closing his eyes tightly in anger.

“How could you be so _stupid_?” Anders turned viciously on Nathaniel, his index finger pressing sharply against the archer’s collarbone. “And _YOU_. You didn’t say anything either. Both of you. I don’t even have the words. You...”

He could feel his throat constricting and he hiccuped, destroying the effect of his angry outburst. The tears were already welling up in his eyes and he squeezed them shut tightly trying to get control of his emotions. The last thing he needed right now was for Justice to come out and scold them as well.

“Get a blanket, keep him warm. Call for the Seneschal and have him prepare for a Joining,” Anders said after taking a few deep, ragged breaths.

“Anders-”

“Don’t you _dare_ argue with me, Nathaniel Howe. I will be damned if I let that idiot die on me now. Not after all the shit we’ve been through.” He turned around sharply looking at Fenris, who was regarding him with a hollow, sickly eye. “You promised you wouldn’t leave me alone. Don’t you break that promise.”

Anders pushed Nathaniel out of the way then and stalked out of the room. He needed some rest and to prepare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I based the Blight sickness timing on what you see of the Dalish elf origin in DAO (you have the sickness for some days before the Keeper heals you and then you travel for a month with Duncan before doing the Joining), Wesley (who contracts it almost immediately), and your Hawke sibling (who contracts it after a few days and lives with it for another day while you find the Wardens and then for another few days while they get them to the surface for the Joining). So I feel that one could have the Blight sickness and it not necessarily show symptoms right away and you can wander around with it for a while (some faster than others, obviously, etc...).


	19. Part Eighteen

“Anders!”

He opened one eye and groaned before pulling a pillow over his head.

“Anders! Open up!”

“Go _away_!” he shouted at the door. His head was pounding, his throat was dry, his eyes hurt, his hands hurt, his knees hurt, his back hurt, and he would be damned if anyone dragged him out of this bed.

“Anders, you need to get out here!”

“I am only coming out if you’re on _fire_.”

“Queen Anora is in the Main Hall!”

“Fuck!” Anders rolled onto the floor, hitting the nightstand loudly and swearing again while he tried to get up and pull his clothes on. He pulled the door open, seeing Sigrun standing there. Anders jumped around the room, pulling his breeches on and trying to tie them. Tucking in his shirt came next.

“When did she get here?”

“About twenty minutes ago. We told her the Commander was indisposed and would be with her shortly...”

“Andraste’s bloody tits, why can’t Nathaniel talk to her? I’ve only met her once and it was for like three seconds while I was being fought over by the Commander and the templars.”

“There’s blood on your coat,” Sigrun said, coming into the room and moving to the wash basin.

“Shit, shit... Dear Maker, why do you do this to me?” Anders looked up at the ceiling imploringly and dropped to the floor to see if his boots had gotten kicked under the bed. He found one and pulled it on frantically.

“Stay still,” Sigrun ordered, suddenly hitting him in the face with a wet towel and rubbing it around quickly. “You’re covered in blood and dirt, and while Fenris and Nathaniel probably think it’s quite sexy, the Queen might not be impressed.”

“What?” Anders pulled the cloth away and cleaned his hands quickly as well.

“Oh come on, Sparklefingers, don’t tell me you don’t know,” she said with a snort and tossed his other boot into his lap.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about Sigrun,” Anders replied, tying off the laces on his boot and standing up. “Hair?”

“A mess. Leave it down.”

“Breath?” Anders breathed into his hand and made a face. “Do you have water?”

Sigrun rolled her eyes and handed her the canteen on her hip, watching as he swished the liquid around his mouth a few times. “Come _on_ boss, you’re a beautiful bride, your mother would be proud.”

“Ha ha.” Anders stepped into the hall, checking his shirt one more time to make sure part of it wasn’t hanging out somewhere and that no one could see his smalls or something else horrible. He gave the canteen back to Sigrun and hurried toward the Main Hall, taking one deep breath before pushing the door open and stepping through.

Seneschal Varel was there, as were Oghren and Velanna. Queen Anora turned her head when he came into the room and raised her eyebrow slightly, amusement playing across her lips. She looked just the same as he remembered, a couple of grey hairs, a few wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, but otherwise still quite lovely. He came forward, glancing briefly at the Seneschal and then bowed.

“Your Majesty,” he said. Maker he hoped she didn’t recognise him, she’d probably clap him in irons and ship him off to Orlais if she knew...

“Hello Commander. I was under the impression that the Hero of Ferelden was still in command here, but Seneschal Varel was just telling me that you and Nathaniel Howe have been running things in her absence,” Anora said, raising her eyebrows in silent inquiry.

“Um... yes, well someone had to I suppose and they all picked me. Quite a funny story that-”

“And-” Sigrun began, pursing her lips.

“-I’m babbling! Yes, I know, thank you for pointing that out, Sigrun. I babble a lot when I’m around royalty, not that I’ve really be around royalty that much, and I’m still babbling. Um. Thank you for coming?” Anders nervously ran his hand through his hair and smiled. He could see Velanna and Varel both making pained faces. Anora, on the other hand, seemed highly amused.

“Well Seneschal Varel was filling me in on how the battle here went. I have already sent troops to Amaranthine to round up the rest of the templars. It was a very bold plan, Commander, though it seems to me that it would have been easier to turn the mages over. Less damage to the countryside and less loss of life.” Her blue eyes were levelled on his brown ones and Anders could feel his fists clenching at his sides.

“It was not an option, Your Majesty.”

“Wasn’t it?”

“No.”

“I see.” She seemed to gaze at him for a moment longer before smiling slightly and nodding, as if he had passed some sort of test. “I understand most of the mages here are currently children, and that one is Conner Guerrin?”

“Yes Your Majesty. There are only two mages in the Keep currently over the age of twenty,” Varel confirmed for her.

“Yes, handing children over would not have been my first choice either,” she replied in a thoughtful tone. “I also understand that the Knight Commander responsible for this fiasco is here?”

“In the dungeon, Your Majesty,” Varel confirmed.

“I think I would like to see him,” she said, looking at Anders again.

“Have a chair brought in for Her Majesty,” Varel said, gesturing to a servant.

“Oghren, can you and Sigrun bring the prisoner here?” Anders asked in a quiet voice. The two dwarves nodded and left the room. A moment later a chair was brought in for the Queen and she settled into it.

“So where is Nathaniel? I have not seen him for some time,” Anora asked when she had situated herself.

“I was wondering the same thing,” Anders said, turning to Velanna and Varel. He did not like that he’d been cornered into meeting with the Queen when he had no idea how to deal with royalty and Nathaniel had grown up knowing the woman and couldn’t be bothered to show up.

“Nathaniel is currently on a mission for the Commander,” Varel said, looking strangely at Anders.

“He is?”

“Ingredients... for your friend...?” Varel prompted and Anders suddenly nodded in comprehension.

“Oh. Yes. That. I didn’t realise he’d taken it upon himself, though I suppose I’m not surprised,” Anders replied. Nathaniel was probably hiding from him. He’d been pretty angry at the time and had threatened to yell at the archer later, after he’d gotten some sleep. The door behind him opened and he turned in time to see a brown-haired teenager come running into the room, throwing his arms around Anora. The Queen looked startled at first but when she saw the teen’s face she smiled and hugged him.

“I’m glad you are safe, Connor, your Uncle has been very worried,” she said as he pulled away, rubbing his eyes.

“Can I go back to the palace with you, An-um.. Your Majesty?” Connor asked her in a hopeful voice.

“I’m not sure if that would be wise,” Anders began, putting a hand on Connor’s shoulder, his brow furrowing. Anora nodded.

“Yes, I believe the Commander is correct, Connor. Mages are not welcome in Denerim at the moment, and being my husband’s cousin would not protect even you. Ferelden mages are safest here with the Grey Wardens. For now,” she added, glancing past the young man as Oghren and Sigrun returned, leading a man who had been stripped to his trousers and shirt. Anders’ eyes lit in recognition of the young man he and Nathaniel had locked in the armoire back in the Tower.

“Ah, Gerald, isn’t it?” Anora said. The man scowled at her, looking from Velanna to Anders and then to Connor; not bothering to bow. “Why do you not bow before your Queen?”

“I will not scrape and bow to a puppet that allows mages to wait on her and fights against templars while they carry out their Maker-given task,” he spat. Anora stood up, taking a few steps toward the fallen knight. The dwarves moved out of her way quickly. She idly brushed some imaginary dust from his shoulder before resting her hand there. It was a quick movement and Anders was surprised to see Gerald go down onto one knee in front of the Queen so quickly. She had done something that had knocked the knight’s knee and then had pushed his shoulder down, forcing him to kneel. Anora turned her back to him, walking back to her chair, but not sitting this time.

“Now, Gerald. You may be an arm of the Chantry, but the Chantry does not condone burning villages, farms, and homesteads. The Chantry does not condone laying siege to a city and an arl’s castle. The Chantry also does not condone attacking Grey Wardens.” Anora turned around to face Gerald.

“Do you want to know how I know the Chantry does not condone this?” She smiled. Anders shivered a little. It was not a nice smile. “The Grand Cleric in Denerim herself told me that they did not condone any of your actions. You have been thrown under the horse, my dear Gerald. Your knights will be spared of course, they were following orders of someone who they thought was doing the Maker’s will. They’re being shipped back to Orlais, however, for reassignment. Since there is no more Circle in Ferelden, there is no need for the templars.”

Anders breathed in sharply, it was almost too good to be true.

“I am sure that some templars will be re-assigned to Ferelden, but I will make sure that for each templar in my country, that there are at least two soldiers that know where that templar is, who that templar is talking to, and what that templar is doing. I do not tolerate aggression toward my people, Gerald, and I do not tolerate Orlais thinking it can sneak soldiers into my country by disguising them as templars.”

It was the prisoner’s turn to breathe in sharply, his eyes widening slightly. She smiled again and sat down.

“Do you think I didn’t know? I have spies all over, Gerald. I know that Orlesian soldiers were coming over the border disguised as templars. I know that many of them were amassing at Kinloch Hold. I know that the Empress is very disappointed that Alistair was not put onto the throne so she could seduce him the way she tried to seduce Cailan, and that I was not as amenable to her overatures of ‘friendship’ as she had hoped I would be. A poor, young, inexperienced widow who needed an older, more mature woman to assist her? So, it appears that we can add traitor to your growing list of faults, Gerald.”

Anders watched the former Knight-Commander swallow, his eyes staring blankly at the marble floor under him. Anora waved her hand dismissively toward him.

“You may return him to the dungeon,” she told the dwarves. “Commander, do you mind if I leave him here for now?” Anders watched Sigrun and Oghren lead the broken man out again and then nodded.

“Y-yes, Your Majesty, that would be fine.”

“I’m sure he has many charges to answer to. From Denerim, Orlais, and Weisshaupt if I’m not mistaken.” Anora stood again and straightened her dress. “I believe I will be staying here for a few more days. We will work out the logistics of the damage the templars have done to the farmlands and see what reparations can be made before I return to Denerim and start shipping templars back to Orlais.”

“Of course,” Varel said with a bow. “We have already prepared a room for Your Majesty.” Varel offered her his arm and she took it gently, walking with him toward the hallway that led to the upstairs guest rooms. When they reached the door, she turned a moment and smiled back at them.

“Connor, darling, please come see me in the morning.” The teenager nodded and smiled brightly at his cousin. Anders felt her eyes turn to him and he met them, a little wary. “Oh, and it was good to see you again, Anders.”

The blond flushed straight up to his hairline as she left the room, mortified that she’d known who he was the whole time, but thankful that she wasn’t going to clap him in irons and drag him off as a sacrifice to the Divine.

 _Dear Maker,_

 _Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou. Now just fix that stupid elf._

 _~Anders_


	20. Part Nineteen

He was supposed to be there. He was Commander now supposedly. He should be there.

He wasn’t. Anders could not bring himself to go into that room while they did the Joining ritual. He had made sure the mixture was complete and followed the instructions for the lyrium and magic that had to be infused, handed it off to Varel and waited. Nathaniel had gone in to oversee the ritual.

Anders had not seen or spoken to Fenris since he’d collapsed the first time. When the elf had been helped out of the infirmary, Anders had gone in. He was staring at the shelves, thinking very hard about how to reorganise them to make it easier to find what they needed. He decided that he would have to speak to Gairyth about it. The boy was not a spirit healer by any stretch of the imagination, but he did have a small knack for creation magic and would probably be able to handle a few of the more difficult spells with some practice.

When he heard the door into the hallway open, Anders stepped out, praying that they weren’t bringing him a dead elf.

He saw Nathaniel holding Fenris up. The elf was alive and breathing, and looking much better than he had looked two days ago. Anders walked over and put Fenris’ arm around his neck and pushed Nathaniel’s arm away from the elf’s waist, putting his own in place of it.

“I’ll take him, he’s going to be hungry in a bit,” the mage said. He was still angry with Nathaniel, and the archer knew it, so there was no argument. Anders led Fenris into the infirmary and set him down onto one of the cots.

“Thank you,” Fenris replied. Anders just pursed his lips and moved back to the shelves, taking things down and putting them in boxes on the floor. Anders tried to focus on what was in front of him. The feelings roiling around in his stomach were too much to think about at the moment. He had been relieved to see Fenris walking out of that room, a little more than relieved. The churning feeling in his stomach hadn’t gone away either. It was a strange feeling, not one that he had really felt in a while.

 **He is still a distraction.**

Anders glanced over at the elf. He was certainly that.

“How do you feel?” he asked after a moment. Fenris looked up at him, blinking thoughtfully and shrugged.

“I... am not sure. It is... different,” Fenris said after a moment.

“What did they tell you in the Main Hall about... things?”

“About being a Grey Warden?” Fenris’ brow wrinkled as he thought about it. “Nathaniel said I would be able to sense darkspawn after a while. He mentioned nightmares as well.”

“You have thirty years to live. Give or take,” Anders said. It was best to be blunt about it. Fenris blinked at him and stared for a moment.

“What?”

“The Joining. You essentially drank a mix of darkspawn blood, lyrium, and blood from an archdemon. The blight sickness has been slowed. So you have the Taint, it’ll still claim you eventually. So you haven’t been cured so much as just... had it postponed,” Anders explained, leaning his back against the shelves and looking at the elf.

“I see.” Fenris shrugged then. “Truthfully, I am somewhat surprised that I have lived as long as I have so far. It is sufficient.”

“You’ll have an increase in appetites as well,” Anders said, glancing at the elf and trying not to blush.

“I will eat more?” Fenris frowned.

“...Appetite _s_. As in plural. As in food, drink, and... other things,” he said, looking away.

“Oh.”

“But then you get to experience the wonders of Grey Warden stamina as well.” He smiled a little.

“I see.” Fenris ran a hand through his hair. “What is it exactly that Grey Wardens do then?”

“Fight darkspawn. Watch for signs of a Blight. Protect people. It’s a deceptively simple job,” Anders replied, straightening himself. “You should get some rest. Stay in here. I’ll be in my room. It’s just around the corner. If you start feeling strange. Anything out of the ordinary at all, come wake me up. I’m... not exactly sure how the Taint will manifest itself in you with all that lyrium in your system, so we should be safe rather than sorry if you feel odd.”

Fenris nodded, reluctantly settling himself into the cot he was sitting on. Anders pushed all the boxes against the wall so no one would trip on them in the night and walked toward the door.

“Anders?”

The mage turned around, pushing some blond hair out of his face.

“Hm?”

“...I am sorry.”

“For what?” Anders blinked and frowned, looking a little confused.

“For everything. For fighting with you in Kirkwall, for the insults and arguments. I am sorry for burdening you. You could have left me to the slavers in Alamar easily. You could have left me in Ferelden. You could have let me die of the Blight. You didn’t. You are a much better man than I,” the elf replied, his deep voice low and soft. “You have protected me, healed me, and saved me, and I know I have done nothing to deserve it... Thank you.”

Anders could feel his cheeks starting to burn again and he turned his back on Fenris.

“Bah,” he scoffed, stalking from the room.

 **Staying here is good. We can do much to help mages and peasants here. Fighting darkspawn is good. Giving the elf purpose is good. This is Just. We will stay here.**

 _So help me Maker.... I don’t know what you have planned for me, but an outline or an instruction book would be nice._

 _And make that damn elf point his puppy eyes at someone else. They’re doing things to me._

 _~Anders._


	21. Epilogue

The castle food supply was dwindling quickly. They had brought in food from Amaranthine, though many of their back up provisions had been given out to the farmers whose homes had been destroyed by templars while they were rebuilt. Anders had sent soldiers out to assist with the rebuilding, they wouldn’t be needed for much else until everything was back to normal again. The Wardens took over the bandit patrols around the arling in the meantime.

However, the problem of the food supply was looming larger. It was getting rather annoying, actually. They had food brought in, and a week later they would be on the verge of running out again. It was starting to get ridiculous, and Anders, for the life of him, could not figure out what was happening.

He started an experiment after the third week. Anders picked a special piece of fruit the day the food was delivered and put a mark on it. He placed it in the pantry and told the kitchen staff not to give it out to anyone, that he was saving it for something.

Before he went to bed, Anders checked the pantry that night and the fruit was still there, not having been given out by anyone in the kitchen.

The next morning, it was gone.

Therefore, the food was disappearing at night.

Anders decided that he was going to have to catch their food thieves. He couldn’t imagine how they were getting the food out of the kitchens in such large quantities without anyone seeing them. He decided to hide in the kitchen that night to see how many thieves there were and how they were getting in and out. Maybe it was rats? But it was a lot of food disappearing, he wasn’t sure there were enough rats around to get through that much food in a week.

There was no moon that night so the kitchen was incredibly dark. Anders had stationed himself in a corner behind one of the cupboards where he could see the door and the pantry and hopefully wouldn’t be seen by their thieves.

It was the sound of the pantry creaking open that awoke him some hours later. Anders silently cursed at himself for falling asleep, he had missed seeing the thieves come into the kitchen, though it was still very dark without the moon to give him any light. The mage cautiously creeped toward the open pantry door, hoping to get a glimpse.

He was almost there when the pantry suddenly lit up with a pale, blue light.

Anders blinked. He stepped quickly around the door and stared.

“FENRIS!”

The elf spun around, looking guilty with an apple in his mouth and two loaves of bread in his arms, one of which he dropped in surprise.

Anders reached up and lit a nearby torch with a fire spell to brighten the room. Fenris winced in the brighter yellow light of the flame and shuffled his feet, taking the apple out of his mouth.

“...I was hungry.”

Anders just stared, a smile twitching the corners of his mouth until he couldn’t keep himself from laughing.

“It is not funny, mage,” Fenris said, frowning a little.

Anders just waved his hand trying to catch his breath, but the laughter wouldn’t stop. The idea of Fenris sneaking into the kitchen every night to steal food wouldn’t leave him alone. He gasped for breath while the elf shifted his feet, starting to get annoyed, even though he was embarrassed at having been caught. When he finally collected himself again (though he couldn’t stop giggling occasionally as the image of Fenris’ ‘caught red-handed’ look flitted through his head again) Anders picked up the loaf of bread the elf had dropped and handed it to him.

“I knew you’d be hungry. I remember after my Joining, I had to have eaten enough food for five families every day. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, and you certainly don’t need to be sneaking around at night like this.” Anders snickered again. “Eat it during the day, no one will think less of you if you’re tucking in. They all did it too.”

Anders reached over and ruffled the elf’s hair fondly before leaning over and gently kissing the elf on the nose.

He didn’t even bother to look back to see Fenris’ blush reaching his ears as he walked away, leaving the kitchen, and going back to bed.

The work of a Commander is never done.


End file.
